


paint it red, they’ll cover it up anyway

by snowandfire



Series: zuko teaches kindergarten [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst and Romance, M/M, and we're talking about it, at the end, but also emotional closure, for dealing with these two in this fic, i sent zuko to therapy in this, in this chilis, its about...the parallels, mouth wheat boy has nuance ok, realistic relationship dynamics, smellerbee deserves the world, sometimes love is not enough, the unhealthy vibes of a bad breakup, this is a real relationship, this is the prequel to kindergarten teacher zukka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowandfire/pseuds/snowandfire
Summary: [From this angle Jet is even taller than him than the usual few inches. Jet leans in towards him, edging closer till they’re a finger’s breadth apart. Jet’s eyes are so dark, so black. Zuko can barely see the pupils within them. He has such thick eyelashes. And he smells sweet. Like smoke and woodchips.“I’m not like you.”“But you do like me.”]OR: the kindergarten verse jetko prequel
Relationships: Jet & Longshot (Avatar), Jet & Smellerbee (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Smellerbee & Zuko
Series: zuko teaches kindergarten [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860832
Comments: 287
Kudos: 391





	1. smellerbee I

**Author's Note:**

> credits:  
> the most appreciation possible to my beta and friend abby @acezukos for reading through this fic, and tolerating my lack of understanding of dialogue formatting principles, as well as the entire crimily for co-beta-ing it as a group, y'all are the real mvps 
> 
> special thanks also go to leaf @nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice, for co-conspiring many of the concepts found in this fic, ily

It’s a playground scuffle. Not anything more than that. Or maybe it is, with all the biting and the scratching and the dusty ground under Smellerbee and this kid who’s twice her size who’s trying to pummel her. She already has three bruises on her legs, what’s three more? Two from  _ before _ , before she came to live with the Freemans in their dilapidated old house on Main St. One from  _ after _ . She’s always thought of life in terms of ‘befores’ and ‘afters’. This kid is giving her a hard time, his weight is putting an uncomfortable pressure on her windpipe, and his elbow is jammed right in the soft space between her ribs. But she’s a fighter, she always has been. She’s always had to be. 

She lands one good punch on him, “Is that the best you got?”

Things wouldn’t have gotten to this point if Longshot were here. Longshot doesn’t go to this school, he’s in a special magnet school, via scholarship and also the fact that he’s quiet but just also stupid smart. She’s glad though. If he was here, he’d try and help, and she doesn’t  _ really  _ need that. He’d try to  _ de-escalate _ , and where’s the fun in that. And anyway, he’s away doing ‘smart shit’ to get where people like him  _ really  _ belong. Smellerbee always secretly thought he could do better than their little gang. He has ‘the stuff’. 

In later years when she looks back on it, she’s not really sure what the fight was about. Or even if she was in the right. Heck, she’s not perfect either. What she does remember is a tanned hand pulling the bigger kid off of her. 

A voice. Deceptively calm, but coated with a veneer of anger, and a vibe that says  _ don’t, don’t mess with me _ . 

“Lay off her.” Jet says. 

_ Her.  _ Smellerbee feels a small jolt of satisfaction. He’s only joined their little foster family recently, but it hasn’t taken him long to catch on. 

Jet is taller than this kid. Bigger. And when he wants to he can look  _ meaner.  _ Smellerbee watches them from her position in the dust, down on her back. The kid looks at Jet, and his lower lip trembles. 

_ Do it.  _ Smellerbee wants to say.  _ Do it, I dare you.  _

But the kid has some sense after all.  _ That’s too bad.  _ And he walks away. Jet comes over to her and gives her his hand. The sun behind him forms a golden halo, shining golden brown off of his hair. She remembers the feel of his sweaty hand as he pulls her to her feet. The way he smiles and thumps her on the back. 

That’s it. That’s the moment. Years later, she knows it, that’s why it’s so hard to quit him. 

* * *

Smellerbee takes Bus 72 into town every day. There’s some little old lady waiting at the stop with her, but nobody else. She’s twenty years old now, and that fight in the playground is a distant memory. All except the part with Jet. Because even now, he’s pulling her back to her feet. 

She’s passed the required training. The credit hours and clearances. Her grades aren’t great, but they’re quite good. But her references, frankly, suck. She’s from the wrong part of town and all that. It’s only with Jet vouching for her that she can student-teach at this school at all. 

Last Friday she’d asked him how he managed to do it.

_ ‘Don’t worry about it. I pulled some strings. Anything for an old member of the gang right?’ _

Classic Jet. Everything and anything for the gang. Smellerbee looks out the bus window at the street passing by in front of her. She wonders if she’s remembered to eat, and feels around her back pocket for her emergency granola bar. She gets off at a different stop today than usual. The one by the elementary school. Well technically it’s kindergarten through third grade. But an elementary school basically. 

It’s a chilly walk to the parking lot, she should have worn a thicker jacket.  _ Oh, that’s alright.  _ That’s when she sees it. 

Jet’s bike. It’s a  _ Kawasaki Ninja _ . Double-cylinder, because that’s his style. It’s not a teacher’s vehicle. But then, Jet’s not a  _ teacher’s  _ teacher. He’s parked it diagonally across a parking space clearly meant for a car, and a larger car at that. There are several compact spaces in the back, but he went for this one, towards the entrance. Because of course he did. 

She’s only a few feet away from him, and honestly ready to be the one to tell him to  _ just park in the back okay what’s the big deal?  _ Because this is her first day, and they’re going straight these days, and they don’t want trouble with anybody. Especially since she’s not too sure how she comes across anyway. 

But she doesn’t make it there in time. There’s another car that’s pulled up right behind where Jet’s  _ Ninja  _ is parked. It’s a moss green  _ Toyota Sienna _ , and an old one at that. Dusty too. Yeah. That’s a mom car if she’s ever seen one. 

A guy gets out of it, wearing a dark red sweater and khaki pants. And of course, the real star of the show, a scar covers just about half his face.  _ That’s gotta hurt.  _ He has what the kids call a ‘resting bitch face’, and even though he’s technically expressionless, he looks mad as hell. The annoyance shines clear out of bright, golden-brown eyes. 

He just looks at Jet, and in a tone that makes it seem like he’s trying very, very, hard to be civil, and says, “Hey, could you move?” 

“I could.” Jet smiles, he  _ actually _ smiles. 

“Okay. Will you?” the guy asks. 

“It’s a free country, and I was here first. Why should I move?” Jet asks. 

Smellerbee sighs and looks at her phone clock. Yup. Eight thirty am and she already knows it’s going to be a long day. 

“It’s common decency! You could park your little bike anywhere you want. I  _ can’t _ park everywhere.” 

“Hey it’s not my fault you drive an old gas-guzzler,” Jet shrugs, “Your wife take the good car in the divorce?” 

Smellerbee narrows her eyes. That’s not just a jibe...he’s digging...

“I’ve never been married--I mean--it’s not about my car. It’s about you being  _ rude _ . And they let  _ you _ teach kids.” 

“I’m certified in all fifty states, Mr.  _ Sugita _ ,” Jet says. 

“Try  _ certifiable _ ,” the guy, Mr. Sugita, apparently, retorts, “Now would you please move. I have to prepare for class.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, is this your  _ father _ ’s parking lot? I didn’t realize you owned the place, rich boy.”

That seems to strike a nerve in him.  _ Sugita _ . For one wild moment he looks like he’s going to go over there and punch Jet in the face. But then her eyes flash down to his hands; he’s doing something with them, and she recognizes it. Old therapy trick. Counting down from ten. 

“Have it your way, Mr.  _ Freeman _ .” Zuko gets back into the driver’s seat of his car and slams the door. 

Smellerbee closes the distance between her and Jet. Like always, he doesn’t even give her the chance to speak first. 

He’s just shaking his head, and instead of looking annoyed, he looks fond, and the slightest bit like he’s plotting something, “What’s with that guy, you know?”

“Yeah.” Smellerbee repeats dryly, knowing he probably won’t catch the sarcasm, “What’s with  _ that _ guy.” 

* * *

“You’re an  _ art _ teacher right?” Smellerbee asks when they get to his room and flip on the light switch, “Why do you have so much  _ music _ stuff?”

Jet strides forward and grabs a ukelele off of the front table, strumming it idly. “I play for both teams, you should know that by now.” 

Smellerbee tries for her best Longshot. A wordless message.  _ Stop it.  _

It somewhat works. 

“Okay, that’s fair. Look, I did nick some of it from Aang. But that guy’s all free love anyway. So? I got the didgeridoo secondhand. It’s authentic. We’re going to do a unit on Australia.” Jet opens a cabinet and pulls out a long cylindrical wind instrument, “That’s what teachers like Zuko don’t understand, you’ve gotta make it immersive.”

“Zuko?” Smellerbee asks. 

“Mr. Stick-up-my-ass from before.” Jet explains, “He’s always going on and on in faculty meetings about letting the kids into things gently. Protecting them from all kinds of shit. I get that to some extent. But hey, world’s out there. I’m bringing it to them.” 

“Oh okay. Him.” Smellerbee notes it down in her mind, that guy from before, his name is  _ Zuko Sugita _ . 

“We have third grade today, that means we can bring out the big guns.” Jet smiles wide, and Smellerbee, for just a millisecond, is scared for her life. 

The big guns, as it turns out, turn out to be cave paintings. The third graders all file in, eyes wide, and chatter as they take their seats. Any seat, since Jet doesn’t  _ do ‘ _ assigned seats’. 

There aren’t really desks and chairs here either. Unlike a typical classroom. The floor is one of those fake ones, made up of foamy primary colored squares, the real hardwood or tile floor is likely underneath. There are bean bags and little stools scattered haphazardly that more or less form a circle. There’s a giant blow up globe in the center. And of course, also in the center, there’s Jet. Smellerbee eventually gets yanked there too. 

The first part of the lesson isn’t about art at all, it’s Jet commanding the attention of the entire room, children listening to him, rapt. He describes the advent of man creating art. Asserting his personhood and his inner being beyond the pull of animal instincts. The need to make stuff. Create. Leave a mark that would last even after they were gone. Smellerbee is a reluctant part of this, as he uses her more or less as a prop in the story in his head that he’s narrating. And yeah, all of this in words third graders can understand. She’s gotta hand it to him, he’s got the charisma.

That’s sort of Jet in a nutshell though: chaos and charisma. 

After the intro, he points out Argentina on the giant globe and passes it around, it’s bigger than most of the kids’ entire bodies. They  _ ooh  _ and  _ aah  _ over it, and clearly touching the globe is a big honor. Smellerbee’s responsible for passing it from one group of kids to the next. There’s a lot more of ‘Miss Freeman! Miss Freeman!’ going around, and the globe is in high demand. 

Once they’ve all gotten a chance to touch it, Jet throws up the ‘piece of the day’ as he calls it up on the projector. It’s...something. A full color photograph of a cave painting, a bunch of red outlines of handprints. She can’t look away from it. Neither can the kids. It’s almost...gory? What did they use to make something that red that lasted so long? 

The kids really go feral though, when he tapes up a giant piece of cream colored paper to the wall. Smellerbee wants to ask him, ‘do you really think this is a good idea?’ But then thinks better of it.  _ Not a good idea _ has never been a particularly strong deterrent for Jet. 

He just laughs and lets them go ham all over it. Letting them dip their hands in buckets of red paint. Force them against the paper. Slapping. Pushing. 

“Handprints, okay? We’re making our mark on the people that’ll come after us. They’re gonna know you were here, alright?” He raises his voice over the din. 

“Beat that, Zuko.” Jet says under his breath, “I let them put their whole hands in it.  _ Fingerpainting _ . Please.” 

“Hey get the CD player and the south america CD,” Jet gestures towards the back of the room, “We need some mood music. Get their creative juices flowing.” 

Smellerbee grabs the clunky CD player out of the cabinet, and the CD out of the CD rack marked ‘from south america with love, KJ’. Really not wanting to know who ‘KJ’ is, and what they have to do with Jet, or what they did with Jet, she plugs the player in and pops in the CD. 

She sets it at a low volume, enough for the kids to vibe but nothing too much, the low croon of the singer--all in Spanish of course--does help the mood. 

“Louder.” Jet says. 

She dials it up a notch. 

“Come on, just turn it louder.” 

She dials it up two notches. 

“Bee, come on.” he uses her childhood nickname, he knows it’ll get her.  _ Bitch.  _

She turns up the volume all the way. And he looks happy. She hates it, how much she likes it when he looks happy. She doesn’t want to be an enabler, not again, even with something stupid like this. The volume on a CD player.  _ For crying out loud.  _

It takes three minutes, maybe, for Zuko to appear. He’s going to need to count to twenty this time, for how mad he looks. Smellerbee gets the idea that maybe this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. 

“Mr. Freeman, can I talk to you?” Zuko asks, in a low raspy voice, anger concealed under a light dusting of mandatory politeness. 

“Be my guest,” Jet opens a bag of tortilla chips, Smellerbee has no idea where they came from, “Want one?” 

“We’re having a silent reading hour,” Zuko says through gritted teeth. 

“That’s nice, good for you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep the volume down.”

“No can do. It’ll hamper our creativity. And you wouldn’t want that right? For the kids.” 

“Aang’s classroom is across the hall, he teaches  _ music _ . How is it possible that  _ he _ can manage to keep it down and  _ you _ can’t?” 

“You could ask him,” Jet shrugs. 

“I  _ could _ . Or you could just keep it down a little.” Zuko puts an emphasis on every word. 

A girl appears from Zuko’s left. She tugs on his pant leg, “Mr. Sugita I need to go to the bathroom.”

Zuko gives Jet a look. A look that can only mean.  _ You’re lucky someone needs to pee.  _ And he disappears, girl in tow. 

“So touchy.” Jet shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. 

Every single one of Smellerbee’s mental alarm bells are ringing. She’s been down this road before. She’s been down this road so many times they should name it after her. Jet  _ likes  _ this guy. He wants to make him his new ‘project’. He wants to  _ have  _ him. And she’s just going to have to sit there and watch.

* * *

Smellerbee still has a shred, a smidgen of hope though, so she keeps watching them the next couple of days. Just to make sure that maybe, just maybe she isn’t catching a break, and Jet really does go out of his way to make every random other teacher wanna pull out their hair. Sadly, no such luck. 

The parking lot and CD player incident both happen on Monday. On Tuesday, Jet’s practicing on a dartboard when Zuko comes in, again to ask him to keep it down. The dartboard is no less than three feet away from the door, but Jet still throws the dart and hits it right at Zuko’s forehead. The look Zuko gives him makes Smellerbee suspect that maybe he can secretly breathe fire. 

Zuko unsticks the dart from his own forehead and chucks it in the trash as if it’s something filthy. 

And all Jet can say about it is, “Oops, missed.”

_ Great. It’s kids teaching kids.  _

* * *

The following Thursday Zuko comes into the classroom again, but this time he ignores Jet and makes a beeline for Smellerbee. 

“Hey, I’m going out of town next week, I was wondering if you could check in on my class. They don’t do that well with substitutes, and they know you,” 

“Oh, yeah. Sure I will.” Smellerbee replies, and silently begs for Jet not to intercede in this private conversation between two adults. 

“Where are you going, Sugita?” Jet asks, dropping even the  _ Mr. _

“Cleveland,” Zuko answers. 

“What’s in Cleveland?” Jet asks, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning up against a desk. It’s early, so no kids are here yet. That means he’ll have barely no impulse control. 

“The Browns?” Smellerbee attempts valiantly to salvage this situation. 

“It’s not any of your business,” Zuko says, rather cold, and strides out just as quickly as he came in, giving Smellerbee, and Smellerbee  _ only _ , a quick nod of thanks. And a look that she knows says  _ how do you deal with him.  _ A life with Longshot has made her an expert at unspoken communication. 

“What was that for?” she asks Jet.

He’s chewing on a capri sun straw now, and again she has no idea where it came from, “Oh that? I think he’s warming up to me.” 

* * *

It’s after school hours, on a Wednesday, when Jet really lets loose though. He’s grading the third grade art projects, and it’s only too typical that this drives him crazy. Jet hates the idea of  _ grades _ and the need for ranking and evaluation. 

He can rant about it for hours while drunk on a Friday night on Smellerbee’s couch. He can also do it completely sober, at his desk, peeking out behind a smiling apple shaped pencil holder that reads ‘apple for the teacher’. That’s one thing she’ll give Jet, he’s really the same in every situation. 

“It’s a form of oppression,” Jet explains as he gives straight  _ 10/10 _ ’s to any kid who even so much as breathed in the direction of the project. 

Smellerbee is sitting right across from him, fixing inconsistencies in his attendance forms, “Yeah, tell me about it.” 

Over the years she’s found that ‘yeah, tell me about it’, is a good catch-all response when talking to Jet and simultaneously trying to concentrate on something.

“By making us give grades, they’re making us rank these kids subjectively. Who’s to say my opinion on art is any more valid than theirs? And you know who writes these ‘benchmarks’ don’t you? Do you think they’ve ever dealt or taught kids in their fucking life?” 

“Don’t say  _ fuck _ we’re in a school,” she’s heard this rant, many, many times before. 

“You sound like him,” Jet doesn’t wait for her reply, “You should see him, he wears  _ khaki  _ pants.  _ Sweaters _ . Who’s he trying to kid? No one with a scar like that is  _ actually  _ that--you know.” 

Smellerbee wasn’t aware that having a traumatic childhood meant that you could not wear sweaters, but she notes it down for future reference as another one of those ‘Jet things’. 

“And besides, the way he’s always going on about the rules. Like he likes them any better than I do! He hates them. I’m telling you, he’s just like me. He just won’t admit it,” Jet takes a kid’s drawing and holds it up, “He’s like this.”

The drawing is of a single thick black scribble, and a line underneath it, the project, if Smellerbee remembers correctly, was to draw your family. Inexplicably, Jet’s marked it  _ 10/10 _ . 

“Uh,” Smellerbee really doesn’t understand where Jet is going with this.

“He’s got problems, all irregular, like the scribble, but he tries to throw himself up over the line. He thinks that if he can get away from them, they won’t be there anymore. Only kids can think like this.” 

Smellerbee remembers the kid who drew this, and the fact that they had made the comment ‘ha my dad’s a worm’ after making the scribble, and says nothing. 

“There’s just something about him,” Jet spins his pen around his thumb and index finger, “I wanna--” 

“Date him?” 

“He’s definitely pretty, but I wanna do  _ more _ than that.” 

She channels the spirit of Longshot again. Making the look with her eyes.  _ This is a school.  _

“Right right, I didn’t mean like that. Well, I wouldn’t mind  _ that _ . But. I wanna see what makes him tick, he’s put himself in a box right now. He could do better. We could use a guy like that. You should see him when he’s all fired up, he took on the school board with me last year to get rid of  _ lunch debt _ .” 

“With you?”

“Me and twelve other teachers,” 

_ Makes more sense.  _

“You’ve only seen him in school, you barely even know him,” she points out. 

“Nah, I know him plenty.” 

“He might be straight.” 

“He’s not and I can prove it.” 

“You don’t have to.”

_ You shouldn’t.  _

“No, I’m gonna. Could use a guy like him.” 

* * *

The next faculty meeting is a nightmare. Jet sits down right next to Zuko, and yanks Smellerbee down into the seat next to him. 

It's a casual friday, and Zuko’s wearing jeans. Light-wash. 

While the principal is speaking, and Zuko appears to be doing his best to look straight ahead, Jet leans over and whispers into his ear, as if they’re friends, Smellerbee can barely hear it, “You look nice.”

_ Subtle _ . 

Despite her best efforts, Smellerbee does peek over to see if it had any effect. But who knows, maybe the guy is just easily flushed. The way he’s suddenly twitchy though, his sharp intake of breath, that’s a whole other story. 

Jet smirks at her as if to say ‘see, told you’. 

After the meeting, Smellerbee takes issue with this immediately, “That doesn’t prove anything, you just startled him.” 

He just walks away, and she resents it ever so slightly, the cocky bounce in his step, “Just watch. I’ll make you a believer.”

* * *

Zuko’s looking through the filing cabinet in the teacher’s lounge. Smellerbee is lying on the center couch on her phone, it’s her lunch break. She watches as Jet goes up to him, and ever so carefully brushes his fingers against Zuko’s, reaching for the same file. 

There it is again, the flush in his cheeks. But not just that this time. He’s angry.  _ Boys _ . 

“I was using that!” Zuko snaps. 

“Maybe we could use it together,” Jet retorts. 

“You take it,” Zuko sighs, and walks away. 

* * *

They have another parking lot incident one morning, and Jet says the darndest thing. 

“Where do you live, I could just pick you up? Male teachers like us gotta stick together, you know.” 

Zuko looks surprised, but immediately changes his expression to neutral, “No thanks.” 

“You sure? You’ve never had a ride like this,” Jet slaps the top of his bike. 

“Yeah. Because I don’t want to.” 

“Why? Afraid that you’ll like it?” 

“I know I don’t like it.” Zuko says defiantly. 

Smellerbee really hopes that they’re still talking about the bike. By god, they better be. This is a school zone for crying out loud, you can’t even drive faster than 10 mph. 

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Jet says, and he’s smirking again. 

“Where? The trash?”

_ Oh heck.  _ This is her oldest friend, and Smellerbee  _ would  _ say something, but if she’s honest, he deserved that. 100%.

* * *

Amazingly, Jet even manages to flirt with him outside of work hours. He just has that power.

This time, it’s when they’re visiting a hardware store. Smellerbee needs some stuff for her apartment. Jet sees Zuko’s car parked outside, and parks his bike, right behind it, horizontally. 

Zuko comes out right as they’re at the door, and he looks at where Jet’s parked, “Really.”

“What are you gonna about it?” 

“Lucky for you, I have a few more errands to run,” 

“Is that so?” Jet asks.

“Look, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Maybe not,” Jet comes up to stand right across from him, Smellerbee swears, if they kiss right now, she’s starting a riot, “But I’m sure you’ve thought about me. You know, in other ways.” 

“Am I that transparent? Yeah. Sure I have. In your dreams. Why are you torturing me? What do you want?” 

“Come on, Mr. Su-gi-ta. Read between the lines.” Jet raises his finger, and he actually, honest to god runs it over Zuko’s lower lip. 

He’s promptly shoved for his audacity, and Zuko stomps away, “Out of my way. I’ll see you at school.” 

* * *

They walk out together one day after school, Zuko’s visibly shivering. So is Smellerbee, but Jet doesn’t need to flirt with  _ her  _ to make a point, thank god. Life does have some small mercies.

“Cold today, right?” Jet asks, in his  _ soft  _ voice.

“Yeah, chilly,” Zuko replies, almost on auto-mode. He’s still shivering though. And she sees a glint in Jet’s eyes, an opportunity. 

She watches as he takes off his jacket in one fluid motion and drapes it over Zuko’s shoulders. And what can Zuko even do about it right now, throw it off dramatically? In front of the kids? No way. 

She feels bad for him really, that he has to just let Jet do this. Maybe it’s because of the cold, but his face is redder than ever, with that jacket around him. And for whatever reason he looks like a deer in headlights. He’s holding the jacket to him. 

“You can give it back tomorrow,” Jet flashes him a smile, and Smellerbee knows that smile, it’s the smile of a predator going in for a kill. 

And with that he walks over to his bike, gets on it, revs it up and speeds away. She and Zuko are just left standing there in the parking lot in his wake.  _ This is awkward.  _

To her utter shock, Zuko’s actually turned his nose in to sniff the collar,  _ eww.  _ It probably smells like Jet. 

“Uh, sorry about him,” she says. 

Zuko doesn’t seem to have heard her. He shrugs off the jacket like a snake shedding its skin and thrusts it at her (by this time the kids have all scattered). 

“Just give it back,” he says shortly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He raises his car keys and presses his thumb down on them, and somewhere in the distance a green van beeps. Smellerbee holds Jet’s jacket in her hands, and since he’s not around, she puts it on herself. Might as well not be cold. It  _ does _ smell like him. Like home and the past.  _ Her  _ past. 

She wishes she could tell him: _ Not this one Jet. Not this guy. _

As if he would ever listen, Jet’s going to take this guy. And the way Zuko’s been acting recently? Sniffing his jacket, sneaking looks and fighting back instead of ignoring him? Yeah, Zuko’s going to let him. 


	2. zuko I

At first it’s just like a slight buzzing in Zuko’s ear. Jet and his constant presence. His persistent annoyance. But as the days go by, the buzzing gets louder and louder. Eventually it’s like someone is blowing through a trumpet right in his ear. It’s pure hell and entirely not what he signed up for when he accepted the position at this school. _It was for the kids. For the kids_. He repeats to himself. And remembers his old therapy trick, counting to ten.

But with Jet, ten becomes twenty. Twenty becomes thirty. And on some days he’s afraid even counting to fifty won’t calm down the smouldering volcano of rage in his heart. 

Because Jet keeps doing _this shit_. 

They’re in a staff meeting, And Suki’s talking about the upcoming book fair. They’re sitting at one long desk in the back row. It’s not Zuko’s fault that Jet keeps taking every chance he gets to sit next to him. He’s also too old to say ‘no that seat is saved’ even though he technically was saving it for Aang. 

“Favorite book?” Jet asks him. 

He assumes he means _favorite children’s book_ , since that’s the context, and answers honestly without really thinking about it, “Velveteen Rabbit.” 

“Mine is _Where the Wild Things Are_.” 

Zuko likes that one too. But he won’t admit it, “I didn’t ask.” 

“But you did answer,” Jet says, he makes a big show of leaning back and stretching his arms up, and on their way back down his right hand lands squarely on Zuko’s thigh. 

“Stop harassing me,” Zuko hisses under his breath. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Jet asks. 

Jet’s hand is steady and no one’s touched Zuko like that in years. He feels his face color immediately and tries to think of something else. Anything else. _One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish...Jet_ . He doesn’t want him to stop. Not really. The truth sends a chill down his spine. But why? Why doesn’t he want him to stop? He hates this guy. On many levels. He hates the idea of him. He hates the reality of him. He’s stayed up at night grimacing at his ceiling thinking of ways to get him fired. He’s fantasized about decking him right in the face. But his hand? That feels nice. _Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck no._

“Shut up!” Zuko says, and doesn’t realize how loud he’s being. 

Suki looks at him warily, and then speaks to him in her ‘teacher voice’, that’s embarrassing, “Something you need to share with the group?” 

“Yeah. Jet, something you’d like to share with the group?” Zuko throws it over to him, there, _see how it feels to be put on the spot for something_. 

“Sorry, ma’am, was just telling Zuko that he’s _distractingly_ pretty. Won’t happen again,” Jet raises his hands in mock innocence. 

Suki’s glare could kill a man. And she starts speaking to him sharply, Jet that is, about decorum, and how they’re discussing important things here. But Zuko can’t hear her. His brain has stopped working. _Zuko. Pretty._ And the way Jet had said it. It just rolled off his tongue. His hand is still on Zuko’s leg. 

After the meeting he apologizes to Suki, “I--That was unprofessional.”

“That’s an understatement,” Suki shoots back, “If you two are together that’s fine. But you can’t disrupt--”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Zuko snaps. 

“And here I finally thought you two were getting along.” 

“How could you say that?!” 

“I mean for one thing. You’re always together whenever we do staff things. He’s waiting for you _right_ now.” 

Zuko turns to glance at the door, sure enough, Jet is there, waiting for him, “Let me deal with this.” 

The lights are off in the school. Most of them anyway, and it’s quiet. The other teachers have left. Everything is dipped in greyscale. For some reason the only thing that color and light latches onto is Jet. 

“We need to talk,” Zuko says, this has to end now, it’s gone too far. 

“Okay,” Jet says, “But not here.” 

Zuko follows him down the ‘blue hallway’, past walls covered with drawings of sea-creatures and a bulletin board announcing the ‘student of the month’. They come to a stop in front of the water fountain near the boys’ bathroom. 

“I don’t get it, what’s your game?” Zuko asks. 

Jet’s looking right at his mouth, and not at his eyes, “Guys like us need to stick together.”

Zuko takes a step back, his hand lands on the top of the water fountain, it’s still wet. He’s leaning back against it. From this angle Jet is even taller than him than the usual few inches. Jet leans in towards him, edging closer till they’re a finger’s breadth apart. Jet’s eyes are so dark, so black. Zuko can barely see the pupils within them. He has such thick eyelashes. And he smells _sweet_. Like smoke and woodchips. 

“I’m not like you.” 

“But you do _like_ me.” 

Zuko can’t exactly deny it, not with the way he’s trembling. His racing heart and shallow breaths all but give him away. 

Jet’s so close now he’s practically speaking into Zuko’s mouth, and his breath is warm on Zuko’s lips, “Don’t. You.” 

They’re almost kissing. Zuko’s hands are shaking. His heart is pounding. If it’s so dark here why does he see light in Jet’s eyes? A core of molten amber in a sea of black. _Oh_. Zuko’s hands come up to rest on Jet’s chest, it’s an action intended to shove him off, to push him away, but when his fingertips make contact with rough fabric they just stay there. He grasps at Jet’s shirt instead. 

Jet doesn’t speak. He just raises one eyebrow, and pointedly looks down to where Zuko’s hands are clutching him. They both just stay like that for a second. Maybe longer. Zuko can’t tell. Jet’s warm under his hands and they’re so, so close. Then something inside him snaps. He shoves Jet hard, uncurling his fingers from the fabric in one fluid motion. The push sends Jet a good three feet backwards, reeling into the other wall. He barely keeps his balance, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

All Jet does is smooth down his own shirt, and he’s laughing, “If you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was ask.” 

Zuko ignores the jibe, “I’m not who you think I am.” 

“Yes you are.” Jet tells him, and then repeats it, slower, “You are. You’ll see.”

* * *

Things come to a head when Jet shows the kids, _his kids_ , Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. Well, technically it wasn’t meant for _his_ kids. Apparently, it was meant to be a third grade lesson, but due to a scheduling conflict, he had the kindergarteners instead. And ‘completely on accident’, left the slide in. Zuko doesn’t know if he believes this or not. But he does know that he can and will commit murder over it. 

It’s the look on five year-old Lucy-Anne’s face that really pushes him over the edge. She’s all quiet, and barely touching her afternoon snack. Just moving sliced apples from side-to-side. 

When he asks her what’s wrong, she only says, “The face.”

Zuko sees red. He knows exactly what she means. She’s not the first student to chatter about it today. He and Aang have already discussed it in the teacher’s lounge. (Aang being the one who told him how it was a misunderstanding) But misunderstanding or not, Zuko’s mad. No amount of counting will save Jet now. 

He waits till the end of the day to confront him, patiently hanging by the door as Jet’s last class of the day files out. Then he lets him have it. 

“YOU LET THEM SEE THE SCREAM?!” he slams Jet’s door and a few clip-on decorations fall off at the impact. 

“It was an accident, it was meant for the third graders, it won’t happen again,” Jet says, “We talked through it later. It’s just exposure. It’s provocative.” 

“If you wanted to be provocative you could have gone for a _Jackson Pollock_. Or, or, maybe you could have remembered that these are kids. And you’re not off teaching art history to a bunch of hungover college students. How stupid are you?!” 

“Name-dropping _Pollock_ . So you do know _something_ about art, Sugita.” Jet doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. 

“I’ll take you to the administration over this.”

“I already talked to Suki,” Jet waves his hand, “Besides, the school board loves me. I’m not going anywhere. And in-case you didn’t know. I’m very popular with the kids.” 

“YEAH?! So are circus clowns. You don’t see us letting _them_ teach.” 

“Don’t kids tend to be afraid of clowns?” Jet strokes his chin, “You should really know things like that.” 

“Don’t try to distract me. I’ll go over the school board if I have to.” 

“Can we talk about this?” Jet asks.

“What?” 

“Put up the slides,” Jet gestures to the back of the room, towards Smellerbee, his much put-upon student teacher, “Come on, one more time, for our _friend_ here.”

_I’m not your friend._

“I don’t wanna look at your slides. I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Come on,” Jet says, “After we talk, I’ll let you be on your way and write to the governor about how I’m a bad teacher, or whatever it is you were gonna do.”

“Fine.”

Smellerbee looks just about as frustrated as Zuko himself at this turn of events, but she turns on the projector and sits back, scrolling through her phone and letting out a sigh. The first slide just reads in big black letters: _What Does Art Make Us Feel?_

“It’s not in any kind of order, it’s just what I think they should see. They’re allowed to feel anything about it. As long as they see it. Then we can talk about it, if they want to. At the end of the unit, they’ll pick a feeling, and make art about it.” Jet explains. 

The first one is a painting of a wheatfield, a red path in between, and black crows drawn as smudges, flying overhead. It gives off a vibe that’s decidedly lonely. Zuko vaguely recognizes the patterns of the strokes. That shade of yellow. _Van Gogh._ But it’s not one of his more famous works. 

“Starry Night too wholesome for you?” Zuko asks. 

“They don't know what to make of it. Not exactly. But they can tell.” Jet points towards the painting. 

“It’s the sense of isolation.” Zuko says. 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

Next slide. This one is obviously a Van Gogh too. It shows a cafe with red walls, and yellow floors. Sinister looking yellow lamps hang on the wall. Despair. This one is about seediness and despair. All the figures in it, the one near the pool table, and the ones by the counter. They look dispirited. A little hopeless. 

“The Night Cafe,” Jet announces the name of the work. 

“You like Van Gogh?” Zuko asks, even though Jet’s only shown him two. 

“It’s not that I like him,” Jet shakes his head, “He knew what he was doing. He knew how to make people feel things. His art changed the world and it mattered.” 

Zuko wishes that _he_ mattered. He looks over at Jet, and just for a second, thinks that maybe, just maybe, he understands. But he couldn’t. 

“What’s your point with all of this? I still might report you. It wasn’t a bad idea, writing to the governor. Maybe I will.” Zuko crosses his arms over his chest, and he tries not to look at Jet again. 

Jet gestures to Smellerbee, and the slide changes. It’s a Monet for sure, that’s unmistakable. It’s all soft yellows and greens. A lovely little gabled cottage in the background. A wooded path leading to a small blue pond full of soft white ducks. Zuko doesn’t know this painting. But he knows the memory. It's the memory of his mother. Her fondness. Innocence. Some strange, willful part of him wants to ask Jet if he knows or thinks of things like that when he looks at this, but suddenly feels embarrassed. 

"No smart ass comment about this one?" Jet is practically goading him. 

"Why did you pick it?"

"Exposure isn't just the hard stuff. It's this kind of stuff. It's all of it. You have to show them and let them experience it for themselves. You can't just protect them from the world." 

"Yeah. Maybe. There's no harm in trying to. You don't know what it'll make them think about. They're _kids_." Zuko says exasperatedly. 

"Exactly. They are kids. And I'd rather they face these things, these emotions, with me in here. Than out there. Don't you get it?"

_There doesn't have to be an 'out there'._ Not yet. Fuck. He's spent years counteracting the damage of seeing and feeling too much too soon. 

"Are you okay with this?" Zuko throws the question to Smellerbee, who at first looks extraordinarily shocked at being drawn into the conversation. 

"I'm just here to get my student teaching hours," She says. 

"Bee, come on." Jet groans, "Whatever. You I can talk to at home. Come on Sugita, don't tell me you grew up perfect. No one does. Sheltering kids that much is counter productive. If I show them Van Gogh and Monet I should show them Munch. Let them decide. Too much shit is already decided for them." 

_No, I didn't grow up perfect._

"Have you heard of Van Gogh and Gauguin?" Jet continues. 

"One of them," Zuko admits, he took an art history course in college, but it feels like forever ago. 

"They were partners for a bit. Van Gogh admired Gaugin. But this guy. He wasn't like him. He wanted Van Gogh to be more by the book. Plan out his draft drawings and shit. Gaugin had all this potential to be as great an artist as Van Gogh. But he just couldn't let go of the rules." Jet explains, he's chewing on a capri sun straw again. 

"Uh-huh. But Van Gogh cut off his own ear and was also probably crazy." Zuko points out. 

"You're missing the point. I'm just saying. You and me. We could be a great team if you could just, cut loose a little."

Zuko has never _cut loose_ and done anything, ever, in his entire life. Well, that's not exactly true. There was that one time. At sixteen. _Don't think about that._

"No thanks. And take that stupid thing out of your mouth." 

Jet shrugs, "You've got your ticks. I've got mine."

Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko can see Smellerbee look up from her phone. 

Zuko gets up and closes the distance between them in two large steps. With Jet sitting down, for once, he towers over him. He yanks the capri sun straw right out of Jet's mouth and throws it off to the side. 

"You're not going to pull a stunt like this again. Not with my kids. Not in this classroom. I won't let you. I don't care who you've got behind you. The school board. The superintendent. Anyone. I've never been afraid of power. You got that?" Zuko says it with three well-timed jabs right at Jet's chest. 

The threat doesn't seem to have the desired effect though. Jet doesn't look scared. That's not fear in his eyes. It's lust and approval. _Raw_ . And _raving._ Jet liked that. He enjoyed that. _Why the fuck did he like that? Oh. Oh. No._ He looks at Zuko like he wants to consume him. No one's ever, ever looked at Zuko like that. But it's more than that. _Does Jet...does he...actually like...? No. He can't. He doesn't._ He's rude and he’s a goddamn jerk and he _can't_ . He _couldn’t_. 

Jet takes Zuko's finger, the one he had so aggressively jammed into Jet's chest, and he wraps it with his own hand. 

He does a letter X motion across his own chest with his hand holding Zuko's, "No more Munch for the kindergarteners. Cross my heart. Scout's honor." 

Jet's hand feels warm against his. Just like every other stupid part of him. 

All of a sudden there are butterflies in Zuko's stomach. A pinkish tinge on his cheeks. And of course, deadly terror at his center, his very core. _Get out. Get out before you do something stupid._

"Ms. Freeman," he nods to Smellerbee, throws off Jet's hand as if it's burning and bolts out. 

He fast walks all the way back to his empty classroom and sinks into the chair behind his desk. He grabs a paper bag from a stack in the supplies drawer and breathes in and out of it. His heart is racing and his palms are all cold and sweaty. 

Panic. No. No panic. He picks up the remote control on his desk and presses play. The soothing sounds of Raffi come out of it. _Baby Beluga._ His kids love that song. They never get tired of it. Kids. _His_ kids. Zuko tries to breathe as he takes in the music. He thinks about the kids today. 

_Vowels._ Today was about _vowels._ There had been a conversation about eels. For some reason. One kid had said the word "heck" really loud, not knowing what it actually meant. This brings a smile to Zuko's face. 

_Tomorrow is show-and-tell._ He takes a deep breath. He knows he can't lose control like that again. 

He opens his wallet and takes out a rumpled old business card for his old therapist. It's been years. But. Yeah, maybe he needs to give her a call. 

* * *

Zuko enters the tiny waiting room in suite E-307. The last time he was here he was nineteen. He’d come every Thursday afternoon for three years. It hasn’t changed much. There’s still that little oak coffee table covered with glossy magazines. _Good Housekeeping. Psychology Today. Seventeen_. The walls are still coffee cream colored. The parlor palm tree is still there, in its distinctive brick red pot. 

The reception girl is different though. The last time he’d been here there had been a dour looking person at this desk, wearing too much black eyeliner and looking like they very much did not want to be there. A person he could very much relate to. _This_ girl looks entirely too excitable, with her yellow t-shirt, her name tag which honest-to-god reads ‘Sonny’, and the way she smiles at him when she asks for a name. _How are you this freaking happy at eight in the morning?!_

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“Maya, uh, said she could squeeze me in,” Zuko explains. 

“Her nine o’ clock called to cancel, I could squeeze you in there. Does that work?” 

“Yeah, that works. I could just wait here?”

“Sure,” she hands him a clipboard, with some papers attached, and a pen, “Just fill this out while you wait.” 

He takes a seat by the door and begins writing stuff down. His name? Easy. Phone. Address. Fine. Healthcare provider. He moves down to emergency contact and there’s space for two. He puts down his Uncle’s name, and wonders if he should have told him he was coming here, and well, why he was coming here. He thinks about the second spot. _What kind of person only has one person in their lives that gives enough of a shit to be an emergency contact?_

Suki wouldn’t mind, they’re pretty good friends. Heck, even Aang wouldn’t mind. But it felt okay to write down Uncle’s name because he’s pretty sure Uncle would write down his name for such a thing too. Aang and Suki wouldn’t have to. There’s always Toph, but she’s only eighteen and he wouldn’t want her to have to--whatever. He leaves it blank, one is enough. Enough for him anyway. 

The next questions are the obvious screeners. They have to ask: ‘Are you having thoughts of harming yourself or others?’ No. Things like that. 

He pauses again at ‘reason for visit’. What’s there even to say? _My co-worker is the biggest jerk on the face of the earth and some part of me may have feelings for him anyway. I wish that part of me was dead._

_I had a panic attack yesterday in my classroom, breathed into a paper bag, and accidentally inhaled glitter leading to a life-threatening coughing fit._

_I teach kids and I can’t be a fucking mess, not again, they deserve so much better than that._

In the end he settles on writing ‘problems at work’. 

It takes him only about fifteen minutes to fill out the whole thing, and he passes it back to the girl at the reception desk. 

“Thanks,” she takes it, and flips the pages, then looks up at him, “Hey, didn’t you use to come here a few years ago?” 

“I did,” Zuko admits, “But how do you know that?” 

“I worked here back then too. Anyway, she’ll be with you in a few minutes. I’ll call you up.”

_What the fuck. Same girl. This and the goth receptionist from last time I was here are the same girl._ Yeah. _What._ In the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter, but if he thinks about it, he probably comes across the same way. No way most people would recognize him as that guy who used to go around wearing black everything. Black socks, black shoes, black headphones. Playing music a little too loud, and a bit rude to everyone else. He used to wear black eyeliner back then too. He had these sunglasses he used to wear sometimes, even indoors, both so he didn’t have to look people in the eye and to hide the scar. He’d grown out his hair so it covered as much of his face as possible while still letting him see. Zuko used to skip school back then more times than he attended it. He used to skip therapy appointments too and get high in the parking lot. Yell at his Uncle, pushing away the only person who cared about him, just to see if the ‘pushing away’ bit would stick. It didn’t. He was running on adrenaline and pain. 

So yeah, looking at himself now. The way he parts his hair, like Uncle, a little off to the side. But always the left side. His clean, ironed sweaters that are real colors. Red. Blue. Green. ( _Not yellow though, there are some limits_ ). The fact that he bothers to moisturize his hands, so they’re soft; it’s the fucking pinnacle of self-care and he’s gotten to it. All the effort and time he’s spent to help him to react to things and to people in ways that aren’t just a reaction to his own anger. Yeah. He’s had a whole-ass redemption arc. And it’s probably even more dramatic than this girl morphing from _Wednesday Addams_ to _Sunshine Barbie._ He’s sure of it. But it’s not so much the change in color as the change in demeanor. The change that comes from the inside. 

When he’s finally in the room with Maya he’s so lost as to what he’s supposed to do he forgets to sit down until she asks him too. Her black leather couch is the same. Her bookshelf is the same. He’s the only thing that’s different in here from the last time around, or so he hopes. 

“Zuko, how’ve you been?” Maya asks. 

“Me? Good. Great. How’ve _you_ been?” 

_Stop lying._

“I’m fine. But we’re here to talk about you. I remember last time we talked you were headed off to college, I recommended that you see someone near the university. Did you end up getting that set up?”

“Uh, no.” Zuko admits, “I thought I was good. You know. With the therapy thing. Sorry.” 

She writes something down on her notepad, and then tosses it away, possibly remembering that he doesn’t like that, because it makes him feel like he’s being judged. She flips on a tape recorder instead, he prefers that. And is glad that she remembered. 

“What do you do these days? You were going to go to college to teach kids, right?” she asks, encouragingly. 

“Yeah, I did. I mean I do. I teach kids now.” Zuko stammers. 

It’s patently ridiculous for him to be _this_ awkward right now. He’s told this person probably everything there is to know about him. The sort of scary, messed up parts. He’s cried here a number of times, on this very couch, and he doesn’t typically cry. A fact that he’s oddly proud of. Even though he shouldn’t be. 

“Do you like it? What school do you teach at? My kids went to Middleton East.” 

He feels the old instinct bubbling up again, just like it did when he came in for his very first session at sixteen, the instinct to analyze what she’s doing before she can get through to him. _You’re asking me things like this to make me comfortable._ But he knows better now than he did then. _There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable here, this place is safe. Stop it._

“Middleton West actually. The elementary school. I like it. I love it, to be honest. That’s part of why I’m here.”

“Right, you wrote that you were having problems at work. But you know, Zuko, a one-off session like this can only help so much. You’ve changed a lot, you were just a kid the last time I saw you, it might take us some time to figure out what you’re dealing with.”

“I know. I think I’m good. For the most part. I just had a more specific question. Or I guess I needed to talk to someone.” Zuko digs his hands into his hair, _why am I so stupid._

“How is your Uncle doing?”

This is a ploy too, Zuko recognizes it. She knows that getting him to talk about Uncle will get him to calm down. _Calming down is a good thing you idiot. This is therapy not an interrogation._

“He’s good. He has the tea shop.”

“Yes, I remember. You used to work there.” 

“I did.”

“Zuko, last time when we talked you mentioned meeting Toph. Meeting Mai. If you’re having a question that you need help with, or just something in your life that you’d like to talk about. If it’s not a part of a larger problem that’s affecting multiple aspects of your life, I’d encourage you to talk to your friends.” 

_Great. I’m getting blown off by my own therapist._

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t come see me, it’s good to see you again. I’m saying that it’s something to consider. Last time we spoke you mentioned you had been able to talk to Mai. Is she still a part of your life?” Maya asks. 

“Yeah. But we broke up. I can’t just bother her with stuff like this.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“She has her own shit. I’m, fuck. Sorry. I’m twenty-five. Everyone has their own life, I can’t just bother people with teenager problems.” Zuko explains. 

“You feel like your problems are teenager problems.” she repeats. 

Zuko knows this technique too. Teachers are taught it, and he’s used it. It’s active listening. She’s repeating back the key part of what he said to make him feel heard. Despite knowing the trick, it still works on him. 

“They are though, there’s this guy that’s a jerk. He goes to my school. He keeps picking on me but I’m pretty sure he’s into me. How does that not sound like kid stuff?!” 

“He’s also a teacher?” 

“He teaches art. If you can call it that. He rides this bike. He parks in the wrong places. He’s so _loud_.” 

“You said he likes you. How do _you_ feel about him?” 

“I don’t. I don’t know.” 

“This is causing problems for you at your job? You’re having trouble focussing?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know what he wants from me. If he even really _likes_ me or if it’s something else.”

“Do you want him to like you?” she asks, and even she’s a bit cautious about it. 

_Fuck. No. No. No. No. No. No. Fuck no. Absolutely No. Not. No. Nope. Nah. Hell no._

“Yeah.” 

“I see. Why is that, if he’s ‘picking on you’, and I’m not sure what you mean by that? He is a jerk, according to you. Why do you want him to like you?”

_Because I think he might like me_ . He feels warm. _I liked the way his jacket smelled. He said I was pretty once and that was nicer than I’d like to admit out loud._ Or even here, in my head. He looks at me like I’m worth something, like I’m special. He takes time out of his day to bother me, specifically me. He’s not a _bad_ teacher either. Zuko will give him that.

“It’s not bad, talking to him. Yeah, sometimes I wanna to kill him. But not all the time.” Zuko explains. 

“You don’t _have_ to settle for something that _isn’t bad_.” 

“I’m not going to date him or anything. I don’t even really know if he wants that. I just wanna know how to stop feeling like this! Every time he comes close to me I just lose it.” 

“Do you remember what the book said, the one you liked?” 

_Let myself feel. Only then can I heal._ It was a strange, sort of stupid little flip book full of sayings like that. He had burned his first copy. And flushed the second down the toilet. So ‘like’ was a stretch. He had kept the third copy though. He used to repeat stuff like that to himself, around the time when he had actually wanted to try and get better. 

“If I keep feeling like this I don’t know what I might do.” He looks at the clock, their time is almost up. 

“What do you think you might do?” 

_He wants me. I might let him have me._

“I don’t know. I just said that didn’t I?” Zuko snaps, then immediately apologizes, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

“It’s alright,” she’s realized it’s almost times-up too, “Here’s my advice. Maybe take some time off. Clear your head. You’ve been taking stress about this clearly for quite some time. If you could ignore him, rather than engage, that might help you too. Some distance.”

“Sorry I’m so weird. You probably feel like you didn’t accomplish anything.” 

“A patient is never a project for me to accomplish. You did really well in our sessions, but like I’ve said to you before. It’s not about me. Or even this other teacher. You need to accept yourself.” 

_Like that’s gonna happen._

“Do you still get kids like me?” 

He’s talking of course, about the time he tried to escape this very office, and the clutches of his Uncle, and Maya, and ended up hanging off the window. They had to get the fire department to come and save him. Luckily there was a station about a block away. Like he told Uncle though, it’s not like it would have hurt too bad. _It was only the third floor. What’s a few broken ribs?_

He looks towards the window as he says it, and she actually smiles, the tiniest bit. 

“That’s confidential,” she chides, “But I did reinforce the window just in case. You can’t open it from the inside, but that’s a small price to pay.”

_What a legacy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is longshot pov and i can't wait to post it!


	3. longshot I

Longshot doesn’t need a GPS to figure out which exits to take. He looked at the directions one time before he left home and memorized them. He’s always been able to do things like that. He drives practically on autopilot, and listens to tape recordings of lectures as he does so. It’s an eleven hour drive from where he goes to school to where he’s headed, but it’s a trip he has to make. 

Smellerbee had called the Friday before this one, she had sounded worried on the phone. Even if she hadn’t, he would have known something was wrong. She calls once a week, without fail, ever since he moved away. But always on a Wednesday night. There’s definitely something wrong. And if there’s something wrong. It’s gonna be something to do with Jet. 

Speaking of the devil, there he is. Jet practically has a spidey-sense about when Longshot’s gonna pull up in front of his apartment building. He’s standing out there waiting for him. 

“You drive one of those things?” Jet gestures to the vehicle immediately. 

Longshot cocks his head towards the green leaf printed over the fuel cap. 

Jet immediately understands. “Right, fuel efficient hybrid, I guess anything’s better than a gas guzzler. But still  _ a car _ ?” 

Longshot suppresses a sigh, and clicks his car keys twice to lock the doors before following him in. Jet has already launched into a tirade about cars, and how they ruin cities, and ruin people, and ruin the world. But it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. 

“Now motorcycles,” Jet says as they finally enter his apartment, “now there’s a vehicle of true freedom.” 

Jet’s apartment has not changed. It’s not that Longshot’s been to this particular apartment before. It’s because for as long as Longshot has known him, Jet has always lived in essentially the same apartment. 

It’s always somewhere with exposed brick (a must), loft style (another must), and almost always a studio. Usually it’s in one of those apartment buildings right by a highway, or smack dab in between a Waffle House and a Motel 6. He always picks the unit on the lowest floor with the worst view--to bring down the price. Then he puts in the same three pieces of furniture he’s had since he and Longshot used to live together (a dark time), and proceeds to throw his art stuff everywhere. Including the walls. Yeah, Jet frequently repaints the walls, even though renters technically aren’t allowed to do that. But that’s no surprise. Jet is a landlord’s worst nightmare. He gets shunted from apartment to apartment a lot more than the average person, and it’s a miracle he has any good references. The schoolteacher thing is probably the only thing that makes people keep giving him a chance. 

Longshot taps his left wrist, his watch-hand. 

“Oh, this one?” Jet laughs, “A whole year actually. I might make it to the end of the lease.”

_ Not bad _ . New record. Longshot looks around, there’s white sheets laid out everywhere, covered with splatters of paint. Even the tiny pantry’s been repurposed into a storage space for art. Jet’s old stereo,  _ their  _ old stereo, is just sitting on the floor. Music’s playing of course, but by now, Longshot can pretty much tune it out. By now he can pretty much tune Jet himself out, on command. It’s a necessary skill.

“How’s life in the ivory tower?” Jet asks, and Longshot hopes they’re not back to this  _ again. _

When he had first announced that he was going back to school he had been on the receiving end of many ‘Jet lectures’ about academia. How it was “ a state of privilege, seclusion and separation from how the real world has to function.” He’d had to listen to his oldest friend, his brother, in more real terms, call him “a real sellout.” It’s been two years since then though. Longshot has four more years left, probably, before he gets his ph.D. He’d hoped that things had cooled off. 

“What I wanted,” Longshot says. By now Jet should know the drill, if he’s saying it, and not just implying it, in that way that only his little found family understands, he means it. It’s not something about which he’s willing to back down. 

“I’m glad. I’ve been thinking it isn’t the worst idea to have one of us know how it works from their side of things,” Jet muses.

_ Us _ and  _ them _ . Does it always have to be about that? Longshot has barely been here five minutes and they’ve already gotten to this point. Sure, he’s going to a privileged school, where most people who attend have never had to rough it. Sure, it’s a safe little bubble. But what’s wrong with being in a bubble for a little while, just learning the things he’s wanted to learn since he was a kid. God knows he fought harder than most to get there. He doesn’t always want to fight. He wants to do something constructive for the world. Jet doesn’t get that. He  _ won’t  _ get that. 

Longshot notices Jet got a TV, which is very very unlike him. He points to it, and this time he’s the one that’s making a callout. He looks Jet right in the eye.  _ Isn’t television the tool of ‘the man’ to exploit the masses into a following a herd mentality and forgetting to think for themselves? Why do you have one?  _

“I stand by what I say about TV, first of all.” Jet takes a seat on the couch beside him. “But I get bored sometimes. Hey! It’s not like you’re in any position to judge me.” 

As a response to that, Longshot picks up the TV remote and tosses it at Jet.

“Fine. We can watch Seinfeld reruns if you want. Just until Bee gets here.” Jet flips on the TV, and changes a few channels. He doesn’t bother to turn off the stereo, so Longshot gets up and does it, and then sits back down. 

This is a good episode, one that Longshot wouldn’t mind watching in silence. But Jet of course, talks over it. 

“It’s been weird without you here. Bee’s all worried. She won’t say it to me. But she’s definitely worried about something.” Jet sighs. “Are you planning on coming round here for the holidays? You could come see the school musical. I’ve sort of been roped into helping.” 

Longshot sighs and shakes his head, but he also smiles weakly. 

“I get it,” Jet nods, “you’re busy. It’s fine. We get by without you.” 

That hurts, and Jet doesn’t need to say it. After all, Jet knows how this works. Longshot spends Thanksgiving break with Jet and Smellerbee. He spends Christmas break with the Duke, Pipsqueak, and their adoptive parents. Longshot doesn’t want to remind him of this though, even things tangentially related to their parents tend to set him off. Not in the small ways he gets set off all the time, like really, really set off. They hadn’t parted ways on good terms, Jet and the Freemans. It’s a miracle he still uses their last name.

Longshot remembers that day well. Jet had been eighteen. Legally an adult. When he said his final fuck you to the only family he had ever known. Longshot was only seventeen himself at the time. He had run downstairs in his pajamas at the sound of raised voices. Smellerbee was already there, she’d always been a light sleeper. She had tried to get him to stay. She had cried. She  _ never _ cried. But she cried for Jet. It wasn’t that the Freemans didn’t deserve that. They did. They had never done right by Jet. But Smellerbee didn’t deserve that. 

“It’s a pity though. It’s going to be a good one. You should see who I’m working with,” Jet continues, snapping Longshot out of his reverie. 

_ What? Oh right, the school musical Jet’s helping out with.  _

“He’s so uptight, straight laced. Sort of reminds me of you in that way.” 

Longshot starts putting the pieces together, this is why Smellerbee’s nervous. This is why she called. Jet’s got his eye on someone new. 

Longshot raises an eyebrow. 

“His name is Zuko,” Jet says, and for a second he actually seems a little embarrassed, as if he realizes, what he’s doing, how obvious it is that he has a massive crush. But he recovers quickly. And resumes his trademark smirk. 

“I’ve been trying to convince Bee for weeks. There’s something about him.” 

Longshot sighs. 

“No I’m serious,” Jet says. “He holds it back but you should see him. When he’s mad about something. That fire.” 

The doorbell rings.  _ Thank god.  _ Longshot goes to answer it. 

“Sup.” Smellerbee says it casually, but she’s glad to see him, he can tell. 

“You’re just in time,” Jet says, turning off the TV, “I was just telling him about Sugita.” 

Smellerbee looks like she’s having war flashbacks. “Yeah, Jet’s been harassing the guy for god knows how long.”

“It’s not harassment,” Jet says, “It’s called persistence.” 

It’s going to be a long, long evening. 

Dinner’s not bad though. For all his other flaws, at least Jet can cook. He’s good at it too. 

When they were younger, he  _ had  _ to be. Dad, or Steve, as Jet always called him, certainly never cooked for the kids. He was either working at the plant or drunk off his ass at the bar. Mom, or Mary Anne in Jet terms, rarely cooked either. She would have bursts of inspiration, when she would decide to be ‘a better mother’ and for a few days they would all eat well. But most days she would just lock herself in the master bedroom off the stairs and sob, and they would have to fend for themselves. 

His first meals hadn’t been that good. They didn’t have much to work with. Pathetic looking vegetables and a paltry assortment of seasonings. But Jet made the best of it. He figured out how to work their weak little stove and made  _ something  _ every single night. Longshot helped as much as he could, watching things and timing things. Jet was the leader though. He was always the leader. 

He helped the kids eat too. They weren’t always too keen on eating the mixed vegetable stews and sauteed whatever-we-could-find-in-the-pantry dishes that Jet came up with. Jet always knew how to work with kids though. He made it exciting. Telling stories about how they were adventurers on a ship at sea, and they had to make these rations last the whole voyage. Or how they were freedom fighters hiding in the woods, and they had to eat whatever they could hunt in order to get buy. The kids had loved that. Even Longshot had loved that. Loved Jet  _ for  _ it. 

Longshot can taste those days in Jet’s stir fry even now. He almost wants to ask for a story again. So they can pretend like they’re somewhere else. That was always the most amazing thing about Jet. The way he could make you feel like you could be anything. 

Smellerbee tells him about  _ her  _ school experience while they eat. 

“I’m really enjoying it. Although I’m sort of thinking teaching art’s not my thing.” 

“What’s wrong with art?” Jet asks. 

“I’d rather teach all the subjects. Have more time with the kids.”

“Have you been talking to Sugita?”

“I  _ did _ talk to him. He was helpful.”

“You talked to him? You talked to him and you didn’t tell me?” 

“I was just asking him how he got into teaching, relax, I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend,” Smellerbee sighs. 

“How  _ did _ he get into teaching?” Jet asks, stroking his chin. 

Smellerbee looks at him. Longshot looks at Jet. 

Jet rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Bee?”

“Given his history with you, I dunno if he would want me to tell you.” 

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

What follows is the awkward silence to end all awkward silences. He’s almost relieved when they have to clear the table. Smellerbee and Jet do the dishes together. Even after all these years, they still fall right back into that childhood habit. He washes, she dries. And of course, because it’s Jet, he doesn’t let it go. 

Longshot checks his phone, it’s only nine thirty. 

“What’s the big deal?” Jet asks. 

“Okay, would you want me to tell him how  _ you  _ got into teaching?” she counters, taking a dish from his outstretched hand. 

“I’d love it if you talk about me to Sugita, you know that.” 

“He talks about you too,” Smellerbee says, and then immediately clamps a hand over her own mouth. 

“Does he?” 

Longshot clears his throat. He’s trying to give his little sister a break. It doesn’t work. 

“What does he say about me?” 

“That you’re a pain in the ass and he wants to know where I found you.” 

“He wouldn’t say that,” Jet smiles, “Did I tell you that day after the staff meeting, we uh--” 

Longshot gets up and grabs the drying towel out of Smellerbee’s hand, and stands in between them,  _ the things he has to do _ , he glances at Jet. 

“I didn’t kiss him, but almost. Almost-” 

Somehow Longshot feels like they’re fourteen again. With him throwing a ball against the wall and catching it, over and over. Jet pacing the room and recounting his first and only date with Abby from next door. Even back then, Longshot hadn’t been particularly interested in that kind of stuff. He had taken Lin from the Science Olympiad to the prom, but only as a friend. Jet was a whole other story. The girls at school liked Jet. They liked him  _ a lot.  _

Longshot had trouble understanding why. After all, most days they got ready together in the house’s only bathroom, and Jet barely even combed his hair. Nicked himself shaving and pretended he got the scrapes in a fight. After school there would always be a crowd to watch him do skateboarding tricks. Mostly girls. But some guys too. 

To his credit, Jet treated girls and guys the same. In the rare case that he was the one doing the chasing though, no matter who it was, he tended to get obsessed. There had been a girl in college, Katara, that he talked about the way he talks about Zuko now. That hadn’t ended well, but at least it hadn’t lasted long. This time around it sounds much, much worse. 

He looks at Smellerbee. It’s bothering her. And it’s not the only thing that’s bothering her. 

There’s only one thing to be done. 

“Mom and dad want to see you,” Longshot says. 

“Yeah? Tell ‘dad’ I’ll see him in hell.” 

Jet says that as if it’s easy, but he practically shoves the last dish into Longshot’s hand. 

“I don’t like picking between you guys,” Longshot says, he’s been wanting to say it for years now. 

“I’ll make it easy for you, pick me.” 

Longshot doesn’t know what to say to that. 

But Smellerbee does. “It’s not that simple and you know it.” 

Jet doesn’t say anything to that. Just silently fumes. 

A few tense minutes later Smellerbee says she has to leave. Assignments at home to grade. They both know it’s a lie. But that’s okay. It’s been a lot. A long night. 

“I’ll come by again tomorrow,” Smellerbee says. Looking alternately at Jet, and then at Longshot. 

“Text me when you get home okay?” Jet tells her. Even when they’re like this. They’re still a family. 

Jet straightens up the sofa for Longshot, he even brings the little fan out from his bedroom and plugs it in. 

“Here,” he says, “In case it gets too warm.” 

Longshot nods at him.  _ Thanks.  _ He pats the spot on the sofa next to him. It’s been a long time since they’ve talked like this. Near midnight. They used to share a bed. There hadn’t been that much space. Him and Jet in the bottom bunk. Smellerbee and Duke in the top one. Jet kicked in his sleep. He used to have nightmares. Maybe he still does. Longshot remembers that. Longshot remembers everything, even though he doesn’t say it. 

“She misses you,” Jet says, he says it accusingly, but Longshot knows what he means. He knows that Jet means ‘I miss you.’ Something he would never actually say. 

“I...I know you  _ think  _ they’ve changed. But I can’t forgive them for what they did. I won’t. That asshole gambled away our lunch money!” 

“Zuko doesn’t talk to his parents either. Not that I consider captain and missus shit-for-brains my parents. I just. That guy gets it.” 

Longshot looks at him. 

“Look him up for me?” 

Longshot’s always been able to get the inside scoop on people for Jet. Before he started applying his computer talents for good, Longshot was a very talented hacker. An internship at the NSA’s left him an even better hacker. But he is not, under any circumstances, going to look up Zuko’s name in a series of federal databases, and see what he’s been up to the past twenty and how many years. 

“What if I promise to lay off him a bit...for Bee.” 

Longshot actually chuckles a bit at this,  _ as if that would ever happen.  _

Jet sighs, “Come on.” 

He considers what he could get for this. He points to his cell phone, then holds up his index finger.  _ One phone call.  _

“...I’ll call once. Just Mary Anne. I’m not even going to speak to that bastard.”

Longshot holds out his hand. Jet shakes on it. His grip is warm. Longshot remembers it. He remembers Jet holding his hands in the middle of his stress headaches. Talking to him when it was impossible for Longshot himself to say anything. He can be such an ass sometimes. But he’s still Jet. They’re still brothers at the end of the day. 

“Deal, now look him up for me.”

Longshot pulls out his laptop from his overnight bag. A few short clicks later. He’s in. Jet’s breathing down over his shoulder. 

“Sugita,” Jet says, and spells it out. 

He types in a command searching for school records under the name Zuko Sugita. Nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist. 

“That can’t be right, do it again,” Jet insists. 

Longshot repeats the command. Nothing. He’s smart though. He knows when things like this usually happen. Clearly he used to go by a different name. There’s a different database for that. Longshot moves around a bit, typing furiously into the terminal. He breaks a few layers of security. Now just interested for the sake of the puzzle. He finds it. 

A name change. Zuko Ryu to Zuko Sugita. Filed at age eighteen. 

Jet’s reading over his shoulder again. “It’s still amazing how you do that. Huh? Sugita is his mom’s maiden name.”

Zuko Ryu produces several court records. Petition for emancipation. Transfer of custody. Some people Longshot goes to school with are good. But he’s better. He can pull out the depositions from the case itself. Testimony from someone called  _ Iroh.  _

“That’s his Uncle,” Jet supplies. 

Longshot suddenly starts feeling really, really uncomfortable. Usually, when he looks people up. There’s nothing much to find. Past addresses. Traffic violations. It’s harmless. He wasn’t expecting this. But maybe he should have been. He’s going to be sick. He thrusts the computer at Jet. He wants no more to do with it. 

_ Fuck _ . All he was trying to do was piece back together his family. Get Jet to call mom  _ once.  _ Not dig into this Zuko guy’s private life. 

“Oh my god,” Jet says, and even he has the decency to close the laptop, leaving them in darkness. 

“His dad is Ozai Ryu,” Jet says, “Oh my fucking god.” 

The guilt is really eating at Longshot now. He opened up a secret that wasn’t his to share. This is why he doesn’t do hacking any more. This is why he was going straight.

Jet just keeps talking, transfixed. “I knew it wasn’t an accident.” 


	4. zuko II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter takes place in the new year after the events of ‘The most wonderful time of the year’ (the christmas special installment of this series) but reading that fic is not necessary to understand what happens here

Classes have just started up again after the winter holidays. It’s still cold out. The kids still take a fair amount of time to stack their hats, coats, and mittens in the proper cubbies. Zuko’s still pretty sure every couple days a kid goes home wearing another kid’s mittens. But that’s just the way the story goes. 

He talks about it with Smellerbee sometimes in the morning. When he can find her alone, without _Jet_ lurking around her. As he often does. 

“What’s eating you?” she asks. 

“The uh, the cubby system isn’t working out.” 

“You should just be glad they’re bundling up at all. Some kids think they’re invincible.” 

Zuko thinks of the way Jet arrives at school some days. Looking all cocky (and more attractive than Zuko would admit to any living soul) on his motorcycle. A thin blue scarf. A leather jacket that’s way too light for this kind of weather. The way he smirks at the fact that Zuko wears a sweater. And then a puffy winter coat _over_ that. 

“Some adults think they’re invincible too.” 

She tosses her empty coffee cup in the trash on her way out. “You’re telling me.” 

* * *

The Clearport Aquarium field trip is the most looked forward to event of the entire school year. For Zuko’s class especially. 

This probably has something to do with the fact that his classroom theme is ‘the sea.’ This year Zuko has twenty two little ‘sea stars.’ They have a little board at the front of the room with differently colored sea stars upon which Zuko has written each of their names. They come in orange, purple, green, and blue. He also has a hanging whale by his desk that the kids have dubbed ‘Whalemer.’ There is a purple stuffed squid near the reading area. Zuko has declared the squid gender neutral after the many arguments on the subject of whether the squid was a ‘boy squid’ or a ‘girl squid’ gave him grey hairs. He has an entire series of picture books about a family of dolphins. He’s committed. 

The classroom even has a small fish tank. Paid for out of Zuko’s own pocket. There are three guppies and two goldfish. The kids take turns, depending on good behavior, to feed the fish. This is seen as a big privilege and Zuko is very proud of himself for coming up with it. The kid’s might not always behave for him. But to feed the fish? _Always._

So yeah. His class is very, very excited to go to Clearport. Zuko is too, to be perfectly honest. But it’s a lot more work on his side than it is on theirs. They need all the adult chaperones they can get. Ty Lee’s class is also going on the same day as his. So she’ll be there. Aang offered to help. And to Zuko’s utter surprise, so did Jet. 

Ever since the night of the Christmas party, Jet’s been _different._ Or maybe even before that. But Zuko can’t even process what happened the night of the Christmas party. They had found themselves under the mistletoe, because of course they had. Jet had an opening then, a perfect excuse to kiss him. Zuko was in the kind of mood where he would have probably _let_ him. But Jet didn’t. Jet had kissed him on the cheek, right under his scar. Skin that nobody usually touched. It had felt _nice._ The fact that it was _Jet_ had also felt nice. 

Zuko doesn’t trust this ‘new Jet’ one bit. He doesn’t know what to make of him. So he decides to put a pin in it. And focus on the Clearport field trip. 

All of it is pre-planned. There are twenty-two kids in his class. Twenty-four in Ty Lee’s class. Each kid will have an assigned ‘buddy’. There are a total of nine chaperones. Which might be a little overkill. Since that amounts to around five kids per adult. But Zuko is nothing if not extremely overprotective. Besides, adults like the aquarium. _Everyone should like the aquarium._

There are two school buses scheduled to take them, he’ll ride in the first one with his class, and _Jet_ . Ty Lee’s class will ride in the second. With _Smellerbee._ How this happened he has no idea, given the choice he would take Smellerbee over Jet any day. But that’s just his luck. 

It worries him a little that Clearport Aquarium is on a busy street. But they’ve done this field trip for several years running, and the buddy system plus a good number of adults around tends to make it pretty safe. It’ll be fine. 

There’s also the matter of permission slips and getting them signed by the parents. He usually hands them out before the winter break, and it takes him a few weeks to get the full set. Usually there are one or two parents who explicitly say ‘no,’ so he has a plan for that. The kids that aren’t going will play in the lunchroom with Suki, the much loved principal, who gets to go back to being just a teacher for the day. She always likes that. 

He has a few final details to discuss with her, and finds himself outside her office after school. Jet is there too. Because of course he is. 

“Why are you here, Su-gi-ta?” Jet asks. For once he’s not chewing on anything. 

“Field trip stuff.” 

“Ah,” Jet says. 

This is weird. Zuko is suspicious. This is bordering on polite conversation. _What the fuck._

“The kids liked your paper-mache project,” Zuko offers to fill the silence, praying to deities he doesn’t even believe in that Suki’s current appointment will wrap up soon. 

“Yeah, Lucy did really well in particular. I liked her take on the abominable snowman,” Jet says. “I can show you if you want, I have photos on my phone.” 

If there’s one thing that’s Zuko’s kryptonite, it’s his kids’ art projects. 

“Fine, show me.” 

Jet’s phone unlocks with a number passcode. Zuko doesn’t really catch it. But he does catch the lock screen, it’s some modern art that he doesn’t really recognize. A blue background with a splatter of red and black overtop. _Typical._ But Jet’s home screen briefly flashes too before he moves to his photos. It’s him, Smellerbee and a bunch of other kids. Zuko doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s surprisingly _sweet_ from someone Zuko would characterize as ‘a real asshole.’ 

Then finally Jet flips into the photos and pulls up a very lopsided glob of paper mache. There are black splatters to indicate eyes and legs. It’s very Lucy. 

“I like her daring,” Jet says, and then flips to another one. “This is Abby’s.” 

“A rock,” Zuko nods, Abby loves rocks. She occasionally brings interesting ones to his desk after recess. He keeps every single one. 

“Here’s Leaf’s,” Jet says. “She has real potential.” 

“Jellyfish?” Zuko guesses. 

“Sea slug,” Jet says. 

Jet flips through a few more, and he has commentary for each one. Rachel’s zebra. Jo’s lion. He speaks fondly of them all. It’s at that moment that it really hits him. _Jet is a teacher._ Sure, that seems obvious. Zuko has always known that. But he never really well, thought about it. He thinks back to the times when he’s been on the infrequent blind date. People usually get bored when he shows them kids’ art projects on his own camera roll. They don’t get how much it means to him. But Jet _does._ Jet gets it. 

“Why are you here to see Suki?” Zuko asks suddenly, and he realizes it all in a single second. They’re standing so close, his heart is racing, and he’s been talking to Jet quite happily for at least ten minutes. Without the familiar urge to punch him. 

“I’m not,” Jet smirks, putting his phone away. 

“You’re not?!” 

“Here to see you,” Jet says, and he’s sort of laughing. “We haven’t gotten the chance to catch up, not since Christmas. Bee told me you had a meeting.” 

Many thoughts ricochet through Zuko’s brain at this exact moment. _You kissed me (albeit on the cheek) at the Christmas party. Now you’re here to see me._ He hasn’t realized it until now. A part of him wants Jet to kiss him again. But Jet can’t be trusted. Jet’s rude, and drives him crazy. He doesn’t remember mentioning this meeting to Smellerbee. Wait- 

“Seriously?” Zuko says, “You stayed after school and hung around Suki’s office on the off chance you’d run into me. Why would you do that?” 

The way Jet bats his eyes at him just then has no right to do to him what it does. Nor do the words that come out of Jet’s mouth next have any right to render him speechless. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jet says. “I know you’re thinking about it.” 

As if to illustrate his point Jet brushes his own left hand against his own left cheek. The same place he had kissed Zuko. 

“I’m not thinking about that!” 

“So you do remember, interesting.” 

Suki pops her head out and looks at Jet, then at Zuko (who is silently fuming). “I just need five more minutes. Zuko I’ll be with you after Jet.” 

“So you do have a meeting with her,” Zuko says after the door is closed again. “Then what was all that bullshit you just told me.” 

“I was joking,” Jet explains. “I wanted to see what you would say. Come on, I do work here. I don’t hang around the school _just_ to get a rise out of you.” 

Zuko can’t explain why, not really. Since he and Jet aren’t exactly friends. Or dating. Or even close to dating. But this sort of hurts. They were having a good moment. Or what passes for a good moment with them. He considers the idea of it having _just_ been a joke. Everything slightly warm, or bordering on kind that Jet’s ever done. There’s no way Jet doesn’t know the effect he has on him. Somehow it was okay with him when it was flirting, even slightly inappropriate flirting, but flirting as a joke somehow crosses the line. 

“I can’t believe I almost thought--nevermind. Tell Suki I’ll see her some other time.” Zuko storms off. 

“Hey I didn’t mean it like--Zuko!” Jet calls after him, “Jeez, I’m sorry.” 

But Zuko doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t go home either. Instead he walks straight into Aang’s classroom. A place of safety, shiny bells, and an assortment of wind chimes. 

“I’m quitting.” Zuko slams the door shut. 

“Hello to you too,” Aang gets up. 

It’s weird, this thing he has with Aang. Well, not weird. Weird for him. Aang is his friend now. He doesn’t have, generally, a lot of friends. Ever since they worked together on the winter musical, they’ve been closer than Zuko can remember being to any person who isn’t his Uncle or Suki. He can come to him with problems and stuff. Aang is a good listener. He _likes_ Aang. 

“Sorry, do you have time for this right now? How’s Katara, and the baby? She has her GRE next month right?” 

“Yes, fine, and yeah, she does. What’s wrong?” 

“Every time I think he’s actually being _nice_ he just ruins it. I don’t get it.” 

“I...I haven’t known him very long, but I’ve always just thought he’s kind of Like That. I wouldn’t take it personally.” 

_It feels personal._

Zuko nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“I...I should go,” he leaves as suddenly as he came in. “Sorry.” 

The drive home is long and a little somber. He doesn’t even know why he feels bad about this. It’s not like he even _liked_ Jet. That he should be upset at the idea that all of Jet’s ‘flirting’ was just some sort of joke. But then he remembers how it felt when Jet kissed him on the cheek at the party. The fact that he was gentle. The time Jet took off his own coat and put it on Zuko’s shoulders when he said he was cold. All the casual little touches. Lingering stares. He had said Zuko was pretty. People didn’t say that. Not about him. 

Parent-teacher conferences tended to be a little, well, difficult, because of the scar and the first impression it caused. ‘Jarring’ was the word most often used. ‘Shocking’ as well. He was fairly open about it with the kids. Saying it was just an injury. Like a scrape, or a bruise. The less detail the better. One kid in twenty usually asked when it would ‘get better,’ as in their perception, injuries usually did. To that he just said it was ‘already better,’ or ‘as better as it can get,’ leaving it at that. The fact that he’s learned to say it with a smile, and without a hint of bitterness, is a complete other story. It’s about how much he loves these kids, that even when talking about something that really does pain him, he won’t let it affect them. 

But Jet, Jet had never asked and seemed to assume. Jet had always treated him like they shared some pain deep inside. Zuko had started to believe it, given what he heard Smellerbee tell him of the way the two of them had grown up. As he pulls into his driveway and parks the van, he pushes his bangs out of his face and sighs. He feels so stupid. 

* * *

The day of the field trip Zuko funnels a hundred percent of his attention into matching up all the kids with their assigned buddies, taking attendance way more times than necessary to make sure he has everyone, and generally driving the other chaperones crazy. 

“Zuko, I think we’re okay,” Ty Lee pats him on the shoulder. “See you at the aquarium!” 

One of her kids, Sam, is already skipping towards the waiting buses. “IT’S AQUARIUM TIME!” 

He watches as Ty Lee leans down. “Now Sam, use your inside voice.” 

She looks confused. “But we’re _outside._ ” 

Ty Lee looks at Zuko for some support, but he only shrugs. The kid has a point. Ty Lee scowls at him, clearly he’s breached the contract of teacher-to-teacher solidarity. 

Zuko gets on the bus last, and sits in the front seat near the driver. Doing a quick last minute headcount before he sits down. Jet slides in next to him and actually looks somewhat apologetic. There’s already shouting and one kid crying in the seats behind him. It’s going to be a long forty five minute drive. 

Jet has the decency to wait until they’ve somewhat calmed the kids before he talks to Zuko. He also has the decency to keep his voice down a bit so the entire bus can’t hear it. 

“Look, I don’t know what you thought I meant, but I--” 

“Save it, look, I know how you feel about me. You know how I feel about you. Let’s just be professional about it.” 

“Okay,” Jet nods. “Fine.” 

But Zuko can’t leave well enough alone. Uncle always told him his curiosity would one day get the better of him. And that sometimes it was better just to leave things alone. Let them settle. It’s too bad Uncle isn’t here. 

“Why did you...I just wanna know why you did all that.” 

“It’s not obvious?!” Jet says, very pointedly not saying what Zuko wants to hear more than anything: _I like you._

“Why would it be obvious? You’re not the type.” 

“What the f-heck is that supposed to mean?” Jet says, quite nearly dropping the f-bomb in a bus full of five year olds. “You think I don’t care about people?” 

“I don’t think about you at all,” Zuko says sharply, and he’s very, very aware of the fact that he is dangerously close to crying. 

“Yeah,” Jet scoffs, “Alright.” 

They sit in silence for the rest of the ride. Then Jet gets up first when the bus arrives in the parking lot. All the kids file out. Zuko does another quick headcount, while Abby attaches herself to his leg. They’re by the side of the road, and one kid is missing. _Haley._ She was there a second ago, Zuko saw her there. Brown pigtails, blue shirt. She’s in his class. Always off in her own world. 

He yells to Aang, “Where’s Haley?” 

He looks around himself but he can’t see her--until he can. She’s chasing a butterfly in the middle of the road. There’s a car coming and Zuko doesn’t think, he just _runs._ But he doesn’t make it. Jet is closer, and he gets there faster. Jet darts into the middle of the road like it’s nothing, into the path of the car. The driver slows, possibly having seen him, but it’s too little too late. Jet’s pushed Haley firmly out of the way. The force of the car hitting him has thrust him forwards a few feet out ahead of where it’s come to a stop. He’s sprawled on the ground. His arm is twisted the wrong way, broken and bloody. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Zuko’s in shock. 

Smellerbee screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read and love every single comment, i love the energy you have for kverse jetko <333


	5. zuko III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for this chapter: hospitals, also brief mention of azula's treatment for self-harm and subsequent recovery

Aang is the one that calls the ambulance. Smellerbee looks like she's about to cry as the paramedics take Jet. Zuko looks at Aang, and he's unsure of what to do. This is an accident scene now. The police have been called. There are still forty-six kindergartners here. Haley is shaken, but okay. 

Zuko can't stop thinking about Jet. About Smellerbee. Who's standing there looking like her entire world just shattered. 

"Go with her," Aang says, "I've got it under control. Katara's on her way too." 

Smellerbee is breathing hard, fighting back tears, the entire ride there and Zuko holds onto her wrist, keeping a firm pressure on it. He's doing what he thinks Uncle would do in order to give him comfort. Being there, but not too pushing hard. 

Her eyes are all wide watching the paramedics patch Jet up and stop the bleeding from his arms. They put an oxygen mask on him and assure her that he  _ is  _ breathing, just not very well. 

"Pulse and blood pressure seem fine, he's lost a lot of blood, he's in shock," they explain quickly. 

It’s a fifteen minute drive to the hospital. When they park at the emergency entrance Zuko steers her out of the ambulance. There are tears running down her cheeks. She's not alright. Forgetting what he himself feels at the moment he grabs her shoulders and looks into her eyes. He breathes with her. In and out. 

"They'll take him in," Zuko explains. "They'll need you to give them his medical information. Can you do that?" 

She nods. 

"Okay," Zuko says, "let's go." 

Smellerbee lingers, and she turns towards where they're loading Jet onto a stretcher. 

"Come on." Zuko drags her inside, if she doesn't see that maybe that's for the better. 

Once inside Zuko explains who they are. Who they came with. 

"She's his sister," he explains. Smellerbee nods. 

"I wanna see him," is all she says, "he's my brother and you gotta let me see him." 

"And you are?" the nurse asks Zuko. 

"I, um, a friend.”

* * *

On the fourth floor they give Smellerbee a bunch of forms to fill out. Questions about Jet's medical history. His insurance. 

They don't let either of them in to see Jet. Who apparently beat both of them up here by several minutes (although still unconscious). But someone does come and hand them Jet's wallet. They found it in his jeans. 

Smellerbee seems to stabilize when she has something to do. She talks out loud while she writes down all of Jet's information. Zuko feels a little guilty for listening. But she seems to feel better with him there. So he isn't going to leave. Listening to these little facts about Jet distract him from the elephant in the room. From the memory of Jet lying on that road. The fact that they still don't know if he's going to be okay despite having asked many, many times. It's a distraction. He'll take what he can get. 

"June seventh, nineteen eighty one," she mumbles. 

Jet's birthday. That would make him twenty-six. A year younger than Zuko is.  _ Huh _ . 

"Allergies...shellfish," Smellerbee says, pausing to chew the end of the pencil. 

"Jet...Singh...Freeman…" 

_ Jet's Indian?  _ Zuko doesn't realize he asks out loud. 

"Half," Smellerbee says, "I need his insurance. That's the only thing I don't know. Check his wallet for me. I'll keep working."

Zuko looks through the wallet for Jet's insurance card. Feeling bad for the violation of privacy. Library card.  _ Nope. But interesting.  _ Driver's license.  _ That's not it.  _ A visa credit card.  _ Nah.  _ Insurance. There it is. He hands it to Smellerbee who squints at it and fills out the last pieces of the form. 

He watches as she hands the clipboard back to a nurse and comes back to sit next to him. 

"They still won't say anything. I want to see him." 

"It's only been a few minutes. I'm sure it's gonna be fine. Look. Is there anyone else we should call?" 

"Nah," Smellerbee says. "Having mom and dad here would make it worse. He wouldn't--he doesn't want that." 

"Oh," Zuko says. That he did not expect. 

"I know they're trying to help but if they don't tell me how he is in the next fifteen seconds I'm going to break some heads." 

"You wait here, I'll, uh, I'll go ask."

* * *

They let Smellerbee in to see him. But only Smellerbee. It makes sense. Zuko isn't family. She is. He waits outside for her to come out. 

"How's he doing?" 

"Better than they expected. He broke that arm pretty badly. Needed a hell of a lot of stitches in a lot of places. He's still in shock. It might take a while for him to...wake up. But they think he will real soon." 

"Okay." 

"You can go, by the way. I'll be alright. I can handle it."

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to stay."

"Why? Why do you care so much?" she asks, suddenly defensive. 

"You seem like you need me here! He jumped in front of a car for  _ my  _ kid. That should have been me. Or it never should have happened." 

"Yeah well it did, it did happen," Smellerbee says, "If that's all you got you can leave us alone now. We don't need your pity." 

"It's not pity! I care," Zuko admits, "I care and if I went home I wouldn't stop worrying about him. Okay?!" 

She hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Alright. S'okay." 

Zuko has dinner with her in the small hospital cafe. Cold sandwiches and bottled water. He has some texts from Aang and Suki. Updates on how they got the kindergarteners back to the school. What they’re doing to manage the trauma of seeing their art teacher being hit by a car. Inquiries on how Jet is doing. 

"So...how are you feeling?" Zuko asks. 

"Not as worried as I was. Jet's a stubborn ass. He'll pull through." 

"Yeah. He will," Zuko repeats.  _ He's got to.  _

"I called Longshot," she says. "That's our brother. He's driving down tomorrow but it'll take him a while to get here." 

"Right, okay.” 

“If there’s something you wanna ask, go ahead,” Smellerbee says, taking a bite of her sandwich. 

“That night at the Christmas party, when I called Jet your brother, you said he wasn’t.” 

“I was being a moody little bitch. Don’t tell me you’re never like that. It’s close enough anyway. He’s my foster brother. Excuse me if I don’t feel like explaining our life story while we’re in the ER.” 

_ Okay. That’s fair.  _

“Here’s his wallet back.” Zuko hands it across the table, and she puts it in the canvas backpack she always wears around. 

“Thanks,” she says. 

“...It’s fine.” 

Smellerbee goes back to the counter and gets a juice box. She takes out the straw and chews on it idly first, before stabbing it into the juice box.  _ What is it with you guys and chewing on things?  _

She catches him staring at her, and sighs. “We grew up on Clint Eastwood movies, okay? It’s not that weird.” 

Zuko tries to imagine a little Jet watching Clint Eastwood on screen. Taking a plastic straw in his mouth to imitate the movie star’s cigarette. It’s kind of cute. 

They’ve seemed to have entered an area where Smellerbee is comfortable talking about Jet. Either because ranting about him makes her forget that he’s a couple floors above them, still not awake, with stitches all up his arm. Or because she’s just stopped giving a fuck. Nevertheless, Zuko is a little curious. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you think he wouldn’t want me to know, but...has he always been...” 

“Yeah,” Smellerbee says. 

Zuko thinks maybe the subject is closed. So he doesn’t probe further. But she leans back in her chair, takes a loud sip from the juicebox and then slams it back down on the table. 

“It’s easy to judge him okay, it  _ wasn’t _ easy being the oldest. He took care of all of us for a  _ long  _ time. The second he gets off on his own he gets himself hit by a car. That’s typical, okay. He doesn’t really give that much of a shit about himself.” 

Now that Zuko can relate to. 

She folds her arms and lays her head down on top of them. “He always took care of me. You don’t know what he’d be like if that was me up there.” 

“He’ll be okay,” Zuko says, as much for his sake as hers, “Like you said...he’s a stubborn ass.” 

“That’s only okay when I say it.”

“Oh, sorry.” 

“Joke.” 

“Right, a joke.” 

“Hey, not to like, ruin the moment or anything, but how come you don’t really get jokes?” 

Therapy has prepared Zuko for this exact question. The real answer is:  _ I take things super seriously, mostly out of a fear of disappointing people, so I have trouble processing whether or not something is meant as a joke. By the time I figure it out the moment’s already passed or I’ve already taken offense. I have to be with someone I really trust, and they have to give more explicit clues through their behavior that they’re ‘joking’ if I’m going to get it.  _

What he tells Smellerbee is, “I get jokes if they’re funny.” 

“Okay, fair enough. Do you mind if I just nap here a bit? Tell me if something happens.” 

“Yeah,” Zuko nods, “go ahead.” 

He watches as he lays her head down against her own hands. It doesn't look like the most comfortable place to sleep. But she probably doesn't care. 

Zuko's fairly familiar with hospitals. His own experience, obviously, at thirteen. A number of follow-ups after that. Attempts at skin-grafting. Surgery to correct the blindness in his left eye. It's not something he likes to talk about. 

But he's been in Smellerbee's position too. He got a call when Azula was admitted. Reported by a roommate as being a danger to herself. It had taken longer for her scars to heal than his. They'd gotten closer then than they'd ever been as kids. It's almost unbelievable now that she's better. He goes to visit her in Cleveland every couple of weeks. But he remembers what it felt like when he thought she might not make it. 

She wakes up by herself in an hour and a half. Looking up at him drowsily. The hospital's gotten a lot quieter now. The cafe is closed. They chuck their food and head back up. 

"He's stable now, much more so," the nurse says. "You two can go see him." 

Zuko wonders what the point would be, seeing as how he's not conscious and all. He also feels like given what happened with them, Jet wouldn't want him there at all. But he takes his cue from Smellerbee's experimental yank on his sweater sleeve, and decides he's needed for emotional support at least until this 'Longshot' gets here. He follows her in. 

The first thing that strikes Zuko is how peaceful Jet looks with his eyes closed. Sure, his right arm is in a sling. He has a few cuts on his face from hitting the gravel. He has a lot of bandages running up and down his leg. The skin that's still showing on his right arm is purpling with bruises. But it takes Zuko a second to notice all that. 

Smellerbee's already taken a seat by Jet's side. She's holding his free hand, the left one, and sort of petting it. Zuko tries not to listen in on what she's saying, quietly, pleadingly. It feels private. 

Zuko sits on his other side. He waits. He can't listen. So he looks. There's a softness about Jet's face. His eyebrows, normally so animated, intense. They're almost lying flat.  _ Has he always had such thick eyelashes?  _

"Okay, now you go," Smellerbee says to Zuko suddenly. "He'll wake up sooner to spite you if nothing else."

_ Oh. That's why you brought me in here. Okay.  _

"Fine, but don't listen," Zuko says. 

Smellerbee raises an eyebrow, "What kinda...you know what okay," she puts her fingers in her ears. "I'm not listening. Go crazy."

Zuko indicates with his hands that they should switch places. She nods, fingers still in her ears, and they swap. They make eye contact one more time, then she sighs, pointedly turning to look at the wall. 

"Uh, right, so," Zuko says, "I...I don't think I can thank you enough. For what you did. Haley was one of mine...and you didn't even hesitate." 

He pauses, the thought of Haley, and what happened giving him a sudden surge of emotion. "I'll  _ never _ be able to thank you. You. You're an asshole, I think you know that. But teaching kids? Even I'll admit you're pretty great at it."

"Right, I should probably tell you, I didn't really mean what I said. I mean I meant some of it. Just not all of it. You know I think this is the first conversation we've had where you're not interrupting me all the time." 

He looks at Jet's sleeping form, the shallow rise and fall of his breaths. For some reason he wishes he could take Jet's hand like Smellerbee did. It's probably warm. Like every inch of Jet's skin likely is. But he knows he doesn't have the right. 

"You were right by the way," Zuko says, the soft expression on Jet's face giving him courage, "I...do...I mean. I think about it! You. Me and you. That."

"So if you wanna, you know, gloat about it. You're gonna have to wake up." 

Smellerbee's looking at him. Clearly he's been talking for a while. He flashes the thumbs up sign at her and she takes her fingers out of her ears. 

"Right. I'm gonna go home for the night, I'll be back tomorrow," Zuko tells her, "You already have my number." 

She nods. "I'll see ya." 

"Right. Bye." 

It's an awkward walk out of there. With his heart thudding in his chest because of a one-sided conversation.  _ What's wrong with me?  _ He calls an uber to pick him up. But when he gets into his apartment he sits down on his sofa and  _ cries _ .

Haley. Haley. Haley. He remembers the panic. He reminds himself that she's okay. Jet made sure she was okay.  _ Jet.  _

Zuko liked him before. In a way. Every single physical reaction he's ever had  _ proves _ it. Jet is attractive. Zuko can admit that now. He can easily imagine Jet's arms wrapping around him. Jet pressing kisses into the back of his neck. He can imagine his own hands in soft brown hair. He can imagine the sheer relief it would bring him. To just kiss Jet on the mouth to shut him up for once.  _ God.  _

But it's never been like this. Zuko had doubts. Several doubts. On Jet's sincerity. As a person. Now there's simply no room for them. As selfless acts go, this one can't be topped. A lot of other pieces have fallen into place too. Jet's life hasn't been easy.  _ Like me,  _ Zuko notices grimly. A boy from a broken home. Zuko doesn't doubt Jet's heart anymore. The only doubt in Zuko's mind is what he should do next. Where they could go. 

* * *

He drives to the hospital the next morning muttering, "Still an asshole. Still an asshole. Still an asshole." 

He has to. Or at the rate his heart is going. It might overtake his mind and he might do something as stupid as admitting he actually likes the guy. 

"He woke up in the night after you left, looks like whatever love shit you said worked," Smellerbee says when he enters the room. 

Her clothes are all wrinkled and she looks like she needs a shower and a non-hospital meal. But she looks relieved. 

"I didn't say anything like that," Zuko insists, thankful that Jet seems to be once again asleep. "But that's good." 

"Longshot's here," Smellerbee says. "He can stay today and Sunday. But Monday he has to go back."

As if on cue another guy comes in.  _ Longshot _ . He has short black hair and a rather intense stare. He doesn't talk, but gives Zuko a nod. There's a look in his eyes Zuko can't quite place. Like he knows something. 

"Suki said to take as much time off as you need," Zuko passes on the message. "You can take Monday off. The whole week. Maybe two." 

"He'll be out of commission for weeks," Smellerbee notes, "I can stay over at his to help. Could ya talk to Suki for me? I'll make up the in-classroom credits next year or something." 

Longshot nods at her, and some form of unspoken communication passes between them. 

"You only need a few hours a day to get the credits," Zuko says. "I think he could be alone for a bit during the day."

"Not in the beginning," Smellerbee notes. "He's gonna need me."

"I'll do it." 

_ What?  _ Zuko can hardly believe what he himself is saying. But somehow. The words came out of his mouth. 

"You'll what?"

"Just for a few hours a day, I'll be around. If he's okay with that. You get to teach." 

"You'll have to take time off of  _ your _ job. Won't you?"

"I teach morning kindergarten, so, uh, not really. Maybe some days I will. Depending on what hours you'll be teaching. It's the least I can do," Zuko explains, "He was hit by a car saving  _ my _ kid!" 

Longshot and Smellerbee exchange a knowing look that he doesn't quite like. 

Zuko doesn't fully understand why he's suddenly signed himself up to spend more time with Jet. Especially a cranky, injured Jet. But this is just apparently what he does now. He needs to have Maya on speed dial to stop himself from making choices like this. 

Smellerbee nods. "Okay, when he wakes up again, we'll work something out I guess."

His fate is pretty much sealed. 

* * *

It's two pm by the time Jet starts stirring again. Apparently the pain meds make him even drowsier. 

Smellerbee and Longshot are both out getting a real meal. Their first in basically a day and a half. So it's just him. 

Jet blinks at the light, and he groans. 

Zuko wonders if he's somehow gone unnoticed. 

"Zuko?" Jet asks, and his voice is light and sort of higher than it usually is. He's not calling him Sugita. Which is unusual in and of itself. 

"Hey." 

"I feel like shit."

"You look like shit." 

"Uh-huh. So would you if you--"

"Yeah. God. Sorry about that. I. Thank you for that. I. Truly--"

"You would have done the same. I know that." 

"That's the thing. I didn't know that. About you. That you would--"

"Seriously? I have one arm in a sling, bandages up and down my leg. And you're calling me an asshole?"

"That's not what I meant! I didn't know you cared that much! Until I did." 

"I care, Zuko, okay? Believe me. I do." 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's okay," Jet says, and then he's smirking again, "You didn't uh--hold my hand or confess your love to me while I was asleep did you?" 

Zuko blushes bright red at even the thought of it. Remembering that he had wanted to hold his hand. That he hadn't confessed love. But had confessed  _ something _ .

"That didn't happen." 

"Sure it didn't. Come over here." 

"What? Why?" Zuko says even though he's already getting up. 

Jet gestures with his free hand for Zuko to come even closer. So Zuko leans over him a bit.  _ Maybe he's going to whisper something? _

But Jet just leans up to meet him. He presses his lips to Zuko's cheek. For how hard and mean he can be sometimes Jet's mouth feels really soft on Zuko's skin. He lingers a bit longer this time. Zuko's red and flustered through every second of it. 

Even more so when Jet lets him go, smiling rather slyly. "Knew you liked that." 

_ Oh my god.  _ Zuko's going to die here. Rooted to this spot. Because he sure as hell can't deny it. Although he could just claim he likes the attention. That would make sense. Maybe. But he doesn't just want attention. He knows what he wants. He  _ knows _ . 

This of course is the perfect moment for Smellerbee and Longshot to return. Zuko jumps back like a foot. The two of them do that wordless communication thing again. Jet's eyes are fluttering closed. 

Smellerbee very pointedly doesn't make eye contact with him. "It's the meds. They make him really sleepy. Pretty loopy too." 

"Loopy?" 

"Yeah he was acting kinda strange this morning, did he do anything weird this time?"

"No. Totally, totally normal." 

_ Lies. Total lies.  _ Whatever. Hopefully, whatever that was. Jet won't quite remember it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys didn't really think id let him die did you? anyway...stay tuned...zuko's gonna take off work to hangout with jet in his apartment...its gonna be...A Time


	6. jet I

_Fuck._ That’s the only way to describe this situation. Not really the ‘being hit by a car’ part. That was fine. He’s no stranger to pain. He just hates _this._ It’s not supposed to be like this. Smellerbee being around all the time and taking care of him. Making him food and forcing him to stay in bed. Threatening to call ‘mom’ (Mary Anne) if he doesn’t listen. Jet’s supposed to take care of her for god’s sake. 

The truth is though, he doesn’t really have the energy to fight her. No energy for snarky retorts. None to avoid doing exactly what she says. It hurts to breathe and it hurts to sit and it hurts to even move a single inch. He doesn’t have the headspace to be his usual self. So he just allows it. 

Luckily though, her cooking is something he’s used to. It’s exactly the same recipe he uses, prepared exactly the same way. It was him that taught her how to cook. In the last days when he still lived at home. 

The apartment is a loft, and she brings it up the stairs and lets him eat it from his bed. Going up and down the stairs, or really going from any point A to point B is incredibly painful. He _has_ crutches but those are painful to use too, the way they dig into the sensitive skin on his ‘bad side’ (the side in which he was hit by a fucking car), and he’s stubborn. So he mainly hops on his one good leg. Grimacing the entire time. 

“He’s coming soon,” Smellerbee mentions as she comes back up to take the empty plate. 

“Oh, right, okay,” he nods. 

That’s the other thing. He isn’t really the biggest fan of having Zuko come babysit him for six hours while Smellerbee goes to work. Not because he doesn’t _like_ the guy. He likes him a lot. Thinks about him all the time. But in all their interactions before, Jet’s always been a step ahead. He likes being a step ahead. Like it or not, that’s gonna change. 

“What did we talk about?” Smellerbee sighs. 

“I’ll be nice to him, jeez, I get hit by a car and you’re lecturing me to be nice to him, what about him?” 

“He’s already nice to you.” 

“What can I say? I just have a way with people.” 

“Call me if you need me, I’m heading out.” 

She leaves and heads downstairs. He hears the doorbell ring. And then voices. He glances at the clock. It’s noon. Sounds about right. Smellerbee needs to hurry up though if she wants to catch the bus on time. He had offered to let her take his motorbike, but she had done a hard pass. What a damn shame. 

There’s light coming in through the windows on his left. He can hear the sound of the door closing. So she’s left. Fine. 

His arm feels heavy and is practically throbbing in pain. Maybe taking the recommended dose of painkillers wouldn’t be such a bad idea. But he can’t think of anything worse than spending an entire day sleeping again. Those drugs make him way too drowsy. 

The next thing he sees is Zuko in the doorway. He’s looking at Jet as if he’s never seen him before. Jet sort of has a headache right now. Otherwise he would definitely make a comment about it. Something guaranteed to get under Zuko’s skin. 

Instead he just says, “I need an aspirin or I’ll die.” 

Zuko pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, looks over it quickly. “I can’t give you that, given the other things you’re taking.” 

But his head hurts. His arm hurts. Everything hurts. What is Zuko, some kind of doctor? They don’t teach shit about drug interactions to people getting degrees in early childhood education. This is Smellerbee’s doing. She’s been on the internet. _Fuck._

All things considered, this was a pretty bad time for the pain to flare up. This is not at all good for his image. 

“You’re useless,” he grumbles. 

“Sorry.” 

He looks so sad now. Still in the doorway. _What an idiot._ Jet tries something out. Focusing on him, instead of the pain that is being alive right now. Zuko has such an interesting face. Golden brown eyes. Always a fucking hint of pink in his cheeks. Great hair though. Jet could go on and on about how nice it is. He has gone on and on about that. Damn pretty bastard. 

“Just. Come sit on the bed, distract me.” 

Zuko approaches very slowly. As if Jet is a wounded animal that could strike at any moment. _Well that’s not NOT true._ But do they really have to go through this every time? Especially while he feels like his arm is on fire. Slow and gentle healing process, his ass. Fucking doctors. 

Zuko sits on the edge of the bed. “Hey.” 

_Oh dear lord._ Jet leans back in the bed, against his headboard. He’s gonna have to drive this conversation. He just knows it. Fine. Fucking fine. 

“Like the place?” 

“Your apartment? Yeah, it’s nice.” 

“How’s Haley doing?” 

“Much better, actually. I spoke to her mom on the phone. All of the kids are a bit, um, traumatized. But we’re handling it. Don’t worry about it.” 

“You can come closer you know, it’s not contagious. And I don’t bite.” 

“Right, of course you don’t, I know that. It’s--” 

“I don’t bite, unless of course you ask me to.” 

The fact that after saying that, Zuko still moves closer, until he’s sitting right next to him, also with his back against the bed, definitely means something. Jet’s been sure that Zuko liked him forever. But now maybe, he isn’t afraid to show it. 

He’s still sitting very carefully though. Ramrod straight. Not shoulder to shoulder. Whatever, they’ll get there. Hopefully. If Jet lives through the week. Though that’s feeling doubtful by the second. 

“I didn’t know you were Indian,” Zuko says suddenly. 

_What the fuck? Is this how he starts conversations?_

“Should I tattoo it on my forehead?” 

“No, I just meant--”

“Yeah, relax. I am. At least half anyway.” 

“Um, was it your mom or...your dad?” Zuko asks, then puts his face in his hands apologetically. “Sorry. That’s invasive. You don’t, you don’t have to answer that.” 

“You’re right. I don’t.” Jet likes the way Zuko looks right now. Shy, and kinda confused at how to do this. Curious about him for the first time. Jet should probably give him a little encouragement. But not until a couple uncomfortable seconds go by. _Gotta have some fun._

He takes his free hand and pries Zuko’s fingers off of his face. “It was my mom. You don’t know the place. But she’s from Nashik.”

“And your, uh, your dad?” 

“I don’t know where that bastard was from. He left her and she never talked about him.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I’m not, better off without him. Scumbag.”

“We have that in common.” 

“Your dad’s a scumbag too?” Jet asks, even though he knows. 

“Yeah. Big time.”

“Fuck them both,” Jet laughs, “I mean come on, they didn’t know what a kid needs. We teach. What’s better revenge than that?” 

“I guess you’re right about that.” 

“I tend to be right about a lot of things.” 

After a couple minutes his morning dose of meds starts to kick in and do something. Which also means he starts getting a little sleepy. He asks Zuko for some water, which the other man immediately goes downstairs and gets. Jet drinks it before turning and laying on his side. He’s partially asleep and awake in different moments. Drifting in and out, he notices Zuko pulling up the covers over him. That’s nice. _He’s really nice._

Things are like molasses now in his mind. Slow and syrupy and sweeter than usual. Zuko’s a nice looking guy and he’s really close. He’s right here. Jet wants to touch his sweater. It looks very soft. It probably is. He remembers that they were talking about his mom. So his thoughts drift back to her. He hates that he barely remembers what she looks like anymore. But she had black hair like Zuko does. Not brown like his. 

He was eight the last time he saw her. He blinks his eyes a few times and finds himself slightly awake. 

“Her name was Seema.” 

Zuko’s still there, looking at him with care in his eyes that’s always been there, just deeper under the surface. “That’s a nice name.” 

“Yeah it was.” 

“Go to sleep, I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Don’t have to leave,” Jet whispers, he’s almost completely asleep now. He feels a warm hand come up to push his hair back from his forehead. As if someone’s checking his temperature. 

But then there’s a warm weight next to him in the bed. He’s not alone. _That’s nice._ He dreams of color, of painting a giant white canvas. Red, red, and more red. Zuko’s hair. The softly blurring face of a woman he reaches for but is never coming back to him. Smellerbee’s cooking. In the dream Zuko holds his hand. He paints the world red. 

* * *

When Jet wakes up, Zuko is gone. But he feels much better. He checks the clock next to the bed. He was out for two hours. Smellerbee won't be back for another three. So Zuko's probably downstairs. _Interesting_. 

He really does have to pee though. He could honestly use some assistance in getting downstairs. However, asking for help just isn't in him. 

Whatever. He uses his good arm to push himself off the bed and balances on one foot, holding onto the wall for support. He sort of shuffles out of the door and grabs the doorway. Technically his right leg isn't in a cast. It's just bandaged in just about every way and putting weight on it feels like death. So it's better to just not. 

Jet makes it to the stairs. Sure, there's a railing. But this will be tricky. The railing is on the right side. And his right arm is the one in a sling. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Zuko asks, a little angrily, from the foot of the stairs. 

"Going downstairs."

"Not like that, you're not." 

"Listen, I'm kind of in a hurry." 

It's the teacher-of-young-children instinct. Zuko knows. Zuko just _knows_. It's plain from the expression on his face. Jet hates his entire life. 

"You have to go. Don't you." 

Jet doesn't answer that. There's no need to dignify that. However true it is. With a comment.

Zuko's looking at him, as if he's calculating something. Then he looks at the stairs. Then all of a sudden he's climbing up. 

"I can carry you down, if you'll let me. It'll save time." 

What he starts to say is _yeah, as if_. But he gets cut off at 'yeah'. Zuko picks him up like it's easy. He puts his arms around Zuko's neck just to hold on. Every single point of contact is making him feel things. Being princess carried down the stairs by Sugita really wasn't part of his ultimate plan to seduce him. But fuck if it isn't nice. 

For once, he's speechless. He gets deposited at the foot of the stairs. He briefly has time to observe the very flustered look on Zuko's face before he grips the wall again and makes his way to the bathroom.

After he does his business he spends a good few minutes staring at the mirror. Splashing water at his face. This was not in the plan. This wasn't. 

There's a knock at the door. 

"Are you...okay in there?" 

"I'm fine!" 

He is not fine. He had feelings before but _fuck._ No one's ever held him so easily. He thinks of Zuko's hand curled around his back. Under his legs. The fact that he's a little out of it and Zuko's warm and real and there. Fuck feelings. 

* * *

Zuko makes a comment about the TV. Of course he does. Everyone who's heard Jet’s rant about the fact that it's an echo chamber which brainwashes children, tends to make a comment. 

To which he always says, "Come on, I get bored." 

"You have Netflix?" Zuko notes. 

"Longshot has Netflix. I'm a parasite." 

"...Of course you are." 

They're sitting next to each other on the couch. Zuko's just flipping through things, trying to pick what to watch. They can't agree on anything. 

They exhaust Netflix after arguing for a half hour and end up watching _The Price is Right_ on a low volume on basic cable.

For some reason, this feels like a date. 

"How many people have you been with?" Jet asks. 

"You can't just ask people that!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant dating."

"Four." 

"Look at you." 

"I don't date a lot." 

"Yeah, neither do I." 

"I find that hard to believe." 

"Why? Because I flirt with you all the time?" 

Zuko chokes on his drink and Jet has to whack him on the back with his left hand. 

"Don't get me wrong," Jet continues, "I used to. It's not really worth my time anymore." 

"Why are we talking about this?" 

"I heard you in the hospital. What you said. I know you think about me." 

"Oh."

Zuko looks sad again. Focusing very hard on the screen. He's sitting to Jet's left. Jet feels bad for him. All of this and Zuko just can't figure it out. He can't catch a hint. _I think about you. I like you so fucking much._ Fine. They'll take their time. 

He changes tactics to making comments about the show instead. Zuko laughs at the things he says. He seems lighter. When the next program is a nature documentary, they watch that too. An hour later Zuko prepares a grilled cheese sandwich as a snack. He brings Jet his second dosage of meds. Carefully measured out. Water to wash it down with. 

"Don't dry swallow, never dry swallow," Zuko warns. 

"Yeah, I got it." 

When they get to the stairs Jet doesn't ask to be carried up. But after getting up a single step and wincing in pain Zuko just does it. He doesn't put him down when they get to the landing though. He carries him all the way to the bed. Jet's heart is beating so fast in his chest. How in the world does Zuko not notice it? Can someone really be that clueless? What a fucking idiot. 

Jet's never been laid down gently on his own bed in his entire life. His real mom never really had the time or the luxury. She had to work all the time for whatever little money they had. Steve and Mary Anne were never like this with him either. He has no memory of being carried like that by a parent, sibling, lover, or friend. But Zuko is none of those things. 

"You're stronger than you look, Sugita." 

"That's a compliment?!" 

"What else?" 

"You can call me Zuko." 

Jet wants to laugh. Zuko's been 'Zuko' in his head for the longest time. 

"Can I call you Zuzu?” 

“ _No._ ” 

“Zukes?” 

“No.” 

“Zuzubee?” 

“Smellerbee wouldn’t appreciate that.” 

“She’ll get over it. Come on. I did get hit by a car.” 

“You can’t keep using that to get your way for stuff,” Zuko sighs.

“Oh, I totally can, Zuzubee.” 

“I told you not to call me that.” 

Jet considers telling him. _Zuko, I like you. As more than a friend. I mean it sincerely, not as some kind of twisted joke._ But how can Zuko not already know that? It baffles him. Plus he’s bedridden for the next few days. He needs something to pass the time. Zuko isn’t going anywhere. He’ll see how long it takes for Zuko to figure it out himself. It might be sweeter that way anyway. He’s made so many moves already, he’s getting kind of antsy. It has to be Zuko that makes the final move towards him. Or it’s no good. None of it is. 

* * *

The next day when Zuko comes, Jet has his sketchbook in hand. Thankfully, he’s left handed, so he can still draw as much as he wants. Like yesterday, Zuko starts out lurking in the doorway, and Jet has to invite him in. _What are you, a vampire or something?_

But once Jet asks him to, Zuko sits next to him on the bed. He even peeks over to see what he’s drawing. 

“That’s really good,” Zuko notes. Jet doesn’t really appreciate the tone of surprise. 

_Is this guy for real? I’m an art teacher. Stands to reason I’m at least passably good at art._

“I mean, it’s not, just a still life,” Jet says, adding some shading to the drawing. It’s a drawing of all the bottles of medicine, the digital clock and stack of other sketchbooks on his nightstand. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What I mean is, drawing things that look exactly like what you see in the real world, that’s not really good art. That’s just. A warm-up. Great art reveals things about reality that you can’t see with your eyes.” 

“Okay.” Zuko follows the path of Jet’s pencil across the paper. 

“Can I draw you?” Jet asks. 

“Like a caricature, or…”

“I don’t do caricatures. Just what you look like.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“I got hit by a _car_.” 

“Fine, okay, draw me.”

“Okay good, now say that, except say ‘draw me like one of your french girls’.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

Jet turns to a fresh page before drawing two circles overlapping to form Zuko’s face. He marks the place where he’ll draw Zuko’s right eye. Zuko’s looking away, which just won’t do. So Jet takes his left hand and turns Zuko’s face back towards him. 

Zuko has so much fringe. A bit more on the left side of his face. It’s obvious why. Jet marks the outline of Zuko’s nose on the paper. Then puts the pencil down again. 

“Why are you fidgeting so much?” Jet sighs. “Just so you know, the kids draw you all the time.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Why. Don’t you wanna see how I see you?” 

“Kids are innocent, that’s why it’s different. They’ll say exactly what they’re thinking.” 

“You need to get over that. Caring what people think about you is exhausting.” Jet pushes the fringe off the left side of Zuko’s face and quickle memorizes how far the scar goes, the change of texture and shade, “If it matters though, I like the look of you.” 

After Jet lets go and starts sketching again, Zuko’s very quick to adjust his hair. But from the look in his eyes, his shallow breaths, it’s obvious that Jet’s words had an effect on him. He likes praise. Clearly, he doesn’t get it very often. Because he’s staring at Jet and his eyes are wide and full of want. _Incredible._

Jet draws Zuko’s good eye, shades in the iris, presses hard to outline the eyebrow above. He uses his thumb to blend out the curve of Zuko’s cheekbone. 

“Who taught you how to draw like that?” 

“No one, I just can.” 

“Wow.”

“You should see my real art, if you like this.”

“It’s downstairs right? Under all those sheets?” 

“Yeah, that’s where I keep my canvases.” 

Zuko inches closer to him, ostensibly to better watch him draw. But it’s the first time Zuko’s moved closer without being prompted. Jet keeps glancing to his left, to make sure the detail he’s drawing and the reality of Zuko’s face matches up. 

Jet doesn’t hold back when shading the scar. He makes it every bit as awful looking as it is in the flesh. But no worse. He tries to capture Zuko’s slight smile. The fierce glint in his eyes. How soft his hair looks. A little bouncy almost at the front. His mangled ear. 

Another man might have told Zuko directly how beautiful he is, but for all Jet’s ranting, he doesn’t think words mean that much. If Zuko’s not an idiot he could see just how much care Jet’s taking in drawing every inch of Zuko’s face. There’s no denying there’s something special about him. 

“You’re barely looking at me,” Zuko says. 

“I’ve memorized you,” Jet explains.

“Why would you do that?!” 

“Why indeed?” 

“Jet,” Zuko says, a little impatiently. _How does he not get it?_ He looks so worried, and a little sad sitting over there. His right knee sort of bumping against Jet’s left. He’s fidgeting again. _Fuck._

“Don’t be so nervous,” Jet holds Zuko’s face in his left hand, leans in and kisses him on the cheek. He likes that, Jet knows that he does. Zuko relaxes immediately, so Jet kisses him again, closer to the scar. 

“Relax, okay?” Jet breathes into Zuko’s ear, he holds onto Zuko’s hand and strokes his thumb along Zuko’s palm. “It’s fine.” 

Zuko shivers next to him. But he nods. _This cute, fucking idiot._

“What do you think?” Jet hands him the sketchbook when he’s done. Zuko inspects it for a long time. Too long. 

“It’s good,” Zuko says. “Really good. You’re talented.” 

“I know.” 

Jet considers for a second. “Let me show you some real art, let’s go downstairs.” 

Zuko gets up and looks at him. There’s about a minute of very tense eye contact. Then Zuko hoists him up so his left hand is slung over Zuko’s shoulder. And Jet leans on him as they walk out of his room. When they reach the stairs Zuko looks at him again. _What am I talking to Longshot over here? Zuko, for god’s sake. Use your words. Don’t make me ask for it._

Their faces are really close, and Jet’s honestly already in pain from whatever pressure he is putting on his bad leg. Fuck it. Whatever. 

“It’s fine, just do it!” Jet snaps. 

Zuko tries very hard not to look at him as he picks him up again. Luckily there’s only like eight stairs from the loft down to the ground floor. But it feels like an eternity. And when Zuko lets him go there’s a little moment where he’s still off balance. His arms are still grasped near Zuko’s neck. He leans into him slightly and Zuko catches him. Holds him by his forearms. It’s sort of close to an embrace. Jet’s head is swimming. Possibly because various points on his body are still screaming with pain. His legs are sore as hell. Also because he wants to kiss Zuko so bad he’s going to lose his damn mind. 

“Thanks, right.” Jet grasps the wall and steadies himself on one leg. 

Zuko lets go, turns away and scratches the back of his neck, “You said there was real art down here?” 

“There is!” Jet announces, and uses various pieces of furniture as support as he gets to the other side of his living room and uncovers an easel. 

“Okay are you gonna paint something?” Zuko asks. 

“No, you are.” 

“I don’t, I don’t really paint. I mean I finger paint, sometimes. With the kids. But not _real_ painting.”

“Relax,” Jet smirks. “Painting virgin, I’ll walk you through it.” 

“What do you even want me to paint? Like a picture or something?” 

“A feeling,” Jet explains, sinking down onto the couch, “I want you to paint a feeling.” 

Zuko stiffens, but any protests he has are gone when Jet holds onto his hand and mouths ‘please, for me.’ After that he listens and gets the paints from where Jet directs him. He grabs the mug Jet uses to store his brushes and he lets Jet pick the right one out of it. 

“I have some canvases under there, you can just take one.” 

“Aren’t those expensive?” 

“Do I give a shit? Just take one.” 

Zuko does, he peels the plastic wrap off of it, then puts it on the easel. 

“I don’t know how to do this!” Zuko snaps. “What if I mess something up? I’ll just make something ugly.” 

“The uglier the better,” Jet explains. "That’s why I love teaching kids art. Adults have all these inhibitions. They’re scared. They’re worried about how things look. How people perceive them. Kids don’t care. You were a kid once too, Zuko. Stop thinking. Just put whatever color you want on there. Paint it red, paint it green. I don’t fucking care.” 

Zuko squeezes out burnt umber, and paints a long strip of brown. Jet knows it’s supposed to be a tree trunk. That’s so basic. But it’ll do. Zuko seems hesitant at first. And the shapes he’s drawing aren’t really that good. Jet gives suggestions from time to time though, and suddenly Zuko stops thinking and starts _painting._ He adds some viridian green. Cobalt blue. Yellow ochre. The strokes are childish and too big. Jet doesn’t paint like that. Zuko doesn’t know when the brush is too dry and he needs to pick up more. Too many of his strokes are dry and streaky. But there’s something charming about it as he keeps going. 

If Jet squints, he swears that it looks like a duck pond. A very weird, warped version of a duck pond. Weird, but sort of childlike and sweet. 

“Why am I doing this?!” Zuko says, still staring at it, then slashes the entire picture with vermillion red. Before throwing the brush aside and joining Jet on the couch. 

“It’s a part of you,” Jet says excitedly, “even that red. It was pretty crappy before you did that. But now it could really be something.” 

Jet lets him stew a bit, then gets up and approaches the canvas himself, balancing rather precariously on his good leg. He dips his brush into burnt sienna. He pushes the red into the parts of the painting where Zuko’s shown the sky. He makes a sunset out of Zuko’s slash. He adds punches of white onto the ducks. He makes one slightly larger and differently colored. He makes the water look like drops of tears. He adds to the shape of the tree that dominates the picture and makes it so that its branches are curved. Like a mother’s embrace. But that red dominates the picture. The setting sun looks wild and raging. Angry. Jet tries to show it. His own fury at having been left behind. 

Then he tosses the brush aside too and goes back to his seat. Zuko’s just studying the painting. A little calmer now. He’s fixated by it. Almost enamored. 

“Thoughts?” Jet asks. 

“How’d you do it? How did you _know_ what it was about?” 

“I didn’t. What I painted, that’s a part of me.” 

“...Maybe we are the same.” 

“And is that such a bad thing?” Jet wonders aloud. 

Zuko shakes his head softly, then cautiously leans in closer, his hand on Jet’s neck. _Is that my heart or Zuko’s?_ His fingers brush against Jet’s jaw and he closes his eyes tight. Zuko turns his face, his mouth falls a little open. There’s a draw between them, a pull like gravity. They get close, close enough that Jet swears their lips touch. Only for a moment. One perfect, red moment. 

Then Zuko jumps about a foot away from him as the doorbell rings. Startled, scared out of whatever he was about to do. _Bee._

_Fuck everything._


	7. smellerbee II

It's not like Smellerbee didn't know this would happen. She did. The two of them in close quarters and all. She completely expected Jet to make some sort of move. He had been flirting with the man for months now. 

But walking in there and seeing the two of them break apart like that, like startled kids that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar, that was not what she expected. For one thing Jet's a confident guy. A stubborn ass for sure. But confident. He had actually looked embarrassed when she came in. This didn't follow any known precedents when it came to him. 

For the record. Smellerbee has seen him kissing someone a few times before. The first time was insufferable high school girlfriend Macy. Who he took to the prom. She had made Smellerbee take pictures of the two of them in a nearby park. Macy had been all over him. The whole time he was smirking. Casting aside his hatred of school spirit functions in order to clown around in one of dad's old suits and touch a pretty girl. _Ew._

She had walked in on him kissing his college roommate. On the mouth. Apparently just as a friend. _Don't worry about it Bee._ Yeah, that's what he had actually said. She hadn't worried. But even then. He had easily laughed it off. _Just a little fun, Bee._

But with Zuko. He was all...weird about it. Smellerbee thinks about this as she watches him, now alone on the couch. Zuko left an hour ago and she still can't stop thinking about how it doesn't make sense. Wasn't this what he wanted? Zuko and him? Why's he being all? _Oh. Oh fuck._ He has...feelings. The mushy kind. Fucking feelings. He doesn't just want to consume Zuko and have him. He wants even more than that. Is this new? Or just a side effect of all the painkillers? Smellerbee isn't sure how she feels about it. But it sounds risky. 

Maybe it is. Feelings always are. Jet's never been good at emotions. He’s never had a reason to trust anyone completely. Or had someone around to protect him. He doesn’t trust people easily. He’s more guarded about his true feelings than one might think. She sighs. It’s always been like that. 

* * *

_Thirteen Years Earlier_

Four thirty pm. Smellerbee's waiting at the school for dad. He was supposed to come pick her up. He promised he would make it this time. It's getting kinda cold, and all the teachers have left. She's been waiting here in the parking lot for an hour. 

But dad doesn't come for her. Jet does. 

"He couldn't make it?" Smellerbee asks, trying to sound brave. 

"You know how Steve gets when he's with his poker buddies. Come on." 

_Steve._ He always calls him Steve. She doesn't confront him about it until they get home. But until then it floats in her mind. Eating at her. Even as she walks with him hand in hand. Even as she lets him take off his own scarf and hat and bundle her up with them. She can't stop thinking about it. 

They're in their room (yes, all of the kids share one singular room), and Jet's already involved with correcting Pipsqueak's homework. 

"Why don't you call 'em mom and dad?" 

Longshot gives her a warning look, but she ignores him. Something about this is hurting her. And she wants to know. 

"They're not my parents, Bee." 

"They adopted all of us." 

Jet sighs, "That doesn't mean anything! They...they! They just adopted a bunch of kids and brought them to bumfuck nowhere and don't do shit to take care of them. And I'm supposed to call them my parents?"

The tears are welling up in her eyes, she feels Longshot's arm across her shoulders, "But we're a family…you could..."

"I had a mom, Bee. I _had_ a mom."

"Shut up. Just shut up." 

She runs from the room, and then the house out onto the street in tears. Jet follows her. She sits on the curb. He sits down next to her. He doesn't say what she thinks she needs to hear. _We're a family, Bee. You're like a sister to me._ She doesn't think he knows how to say stuff like that. Because people haven't said that kind of stuff to him. He can only say things that he understands. 

"You know I'd do anything for you," he says. 

She knows that. She _does._

She doesn't know how to explain to him what she felt. That because he doesn't call Steve and Mary Anne 'mom and dad', she thought maybe he didn't want to be a part of the family at all. Not officially. Not like anything permanent. She was angry, because she thought that meant he wasn't gonna stick around. She's bad at feelings too. 

"I never called my real mom 'mom' either, you know. I called her _amma_ ," Jet tells her. 

"That's interesting." 

Jet scooches a little closer and he pulls up the hood of his hoodie. "You were younger when you got here. Like a baby. Maybe she's warmer with littler kids. She never...so I don't feel any kind of...she can be a real bitch sometimes too. She never stands up for us. She just lets him do what he wants." 

"I'm not...I'm not totally happy here either," Smellerbee confesses, "I just wanna make it work..."

"You're a good kid. They might be...well you know how I feel. But _I'll_ always be with you. I promise." 

"Shake on it," she insists, voice shaking a bit. 

They shake hands. She looks into his eyes. Sees determination and confidence, but she knows there's more underneath. Sure he hates Mary Anne for being a pushover. Lazy. Objectively a terrible parent. But deep down below all of that. Smellerbee knows. Jet wishes Mary Anne had held him close and told him the things a mother should tell her son. 

There's nothing to do about that. So she suggests they go steal the McPherson's garden gnomes. It's always fun getting chased down the block by their mad bulldog. Plus pranks are the only time Jet lightens up and lets himself be a kid with the rest of them. It is what it is. 

That winter Steve's a cheapskate and barely raises the heat in the house. They sleep cuddled closely together in their bunk beds. Jet tells stories to help them fall asleep. He has sort of an overactive imagination anyway. It helps.

In January Jet supervises haircuts for all of them in front of the bathroom mirror. He puts a bowl on top of Longshot's head and cuts around it. It looks surprisingly okay. He gives Smellerbee a shaggy bob. He doesn't trim his own hair at all. 

When spring comes they all come together to teach the Duke how to ride a bike. Jet loves bikes. Him and Longshot share one. They bought it out of their money last year. Steve nearly threw them out of the house for it. Jet swears he'll ride a big, fast motorbike one day, they're all a bit tired of hearing about it. 

In march Steve has to go down to the school because Jet’s been in a fight. A justified one, probably. But it doesn’t matter, he’s piping mad. Smellerbee’s standing on the stairs when they come home. Dad is twisting Jet’s ear hard. Practically bellowing at him. 

“Why is it just you, huh?! The other kids just listen to what we tell ‘em. Stay outta trouble. Why can’t you do that.” 

“They’re scared of you,” Jet bites back, “I’m not.” 

“Maybe I’ve been too soft with ya,” Steve says, and he grips Jet’s arm tighter even as he’s trying to squirm away. Jet’s tall for thirteen. But Steve is much bigger. _Dad_ is much bigger. Smellerbee whimpers a little and Longshot clamps a hand down over her mouth. 

“Bee, get his damn books,” Steve turns to her, “There’s a good girl.” 

Smellerbee goes up to their room, and grabs Jet’s sketchbooks with shaking hands. They’re several years old by now. Jet’s filled every single nook and cranny. Every inch of every page, with drawings. It’s the one thing he’s really good at. The one thing he loves doing that makes him smile. 

The sketchbooks are yanked from her hands and tossed in the fireplace one by one. Jet begs, actually begs for them not to be. 

“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” 

It’s _horrible._ She’s never seen Jet cry, much less apologize. He was always the strong one, the stubborn one. 

Steve destroys them, hours and hours, years and years of Jet’s work. Jet’s just standing there watching, his eyes glued to the fire. Watching everything burn. There are tears streaming down his face and he looks, for the first time, helpless. 

Steve explains why as he does it, and he doesn’t seem to care that the kid he’s supposed to take care of is standing there crying, “it’s the only thing he cares about, so that’s how he’ll learn who’s boss around here.”

It’s not fair. Smellerbee remembers seeing Jet make those drawings. There are drawings of her in there. Of Longshot. Of the Duke. Pipsqueak. Drawings of animals, slugs and bugs they find in the yard sometimes. The McPherson’s garden gnomes. Jet’s not really a materialistic person, but these drawings mean something to him, she knows it. And it hurts to see them ruined like that, it hurts so much. It’s plain from his face. 

Jet even turns to Mary Anne during it, and he says it to her for the first and only time, “Mom?”

He looks small and sad when he asks, “Are you really gonna let him do it?” 

But mom doesn’t say anything. The silence is heavy on all of them. 

That night he brushes them off when they try to comfort him. He’s all stiff and cold and mad. Quiet, too quiet by Jet standards. He never goes to bed this early either. It’s eight thirty pm and he’s already in his bunk. Just lying on his back. 

“He shouldn’t have done it,” Longshot says. But Jet just turns the other way. 

Smellerbee sits at the foot of the bed, and considers throwing something at his head to get him to snap out of it. _No, that’s a dumb idea._ She considers trying to make him a new little sketchbook. There are lots of papers lying around at school, they could staple them together. But that’s not really the same. 

“I’ll never forgive him,” Jet says finally, “For any of it.”


	8. zuko IV

Zuko spends ten minutes just sitting there in a parked car, trying to prepare himself for another day with Jet. Last time he had seen Jet, they had almost kissed. He had been about to do it. He had wanted to do it for a while now. So what now? Should he just go back in there and act like it didn’t happen? Would Jet expect something from him? 

Fantasies are one thing, but what would it be like to actually date Jet? Zuko doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what they are. It’s so weird. They aren’t friends, not exactly. Him and Aang are friends. Him and Suki are friends. Him and Jet are  _ not  _ friends. They don’t casually hangout. Zuko doesn’t even have Jet’s phone number. (He can probably look it up in the school’s directory, but that's neither here nor there). 

But they aren’t exactly acquaintances either. Or just colleagues. There’s the incessant flirting. There’s the fact that Jet has kissed his face several times now. And the crushing realization that Zuko has, that in recent days, he has somewhat been flirting back. It isn’t entirely necessary for him for him to sit so close to Jet. To look at him the way he’s been looking at him. He wanted to. He  _ needed  _ to. Zuko thinks he finally understands why on Facebook, one of the relationship options is: it’s complicated. This feels complicated. 

Turns out he shouldn’t have worried though. By the time he gets inside, there’s only Smellerbee waiting for him. Jet’s upstairs, asleep. Sleeping is something he’s doing a lot of now. Apparently it’s new for him. Zuko’s not surprised. Jet’s never really seemed like the type to just lay around or sleep in. 

When Smellerbee leaves, Zuko heads upstairs. It isn’t healthy to be sleeping so late into the afternoon. Jet should probably eat something. He stands in the doorway again and feels weird. He should have asked Smellerbee to wake Jet up or something.  _ Stupid.  _ Because how can Zuko, not quite a friend, and more than a friend, wake him up. Wouldn’t that be...weird?

He looks so peaceful right now. Calm and soft. Zuko wants to kiss him. His skin looks soft too. Zuko wants to touch it. He’s distracted by watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Is this what it would be like? Waking up next to Jet in the morning? From where Zuko’s standing, it doesn’t seem like it would be so bad. Actually, it seems like something that would be good.  _ What.  _

Zuko steps closer, and considers just opening the curtains. The light should wake him up. He steps towards the curtains and pulls them apart, just a bit, so the light falls across Jet’s face. Jet stirs a bit and then closes his eyes tighter. 

He blinks them a few times, and he looks up at Zuko. “Morning.” 

_ Oh.  _ His voice is all deep and sort of grainy. Zuko’s frozen in place, even as Jet moves a bit and then winces in pain. 

“Good morning,” Zuko says slowly, and then coughs uncomfortably. 

For someone who’s been sleeping up until now, well into the afternoon, Jet has no right to be yawning. He has no right to look like that as he rubs at his eyes, and stretches out his good arm. He looks almost  _ cute.  _ His hair glistens gold in the sun. 

Zuko can just imagine it. It would be so easy. Just tipping Jet’s chin up and kissing him right now. That would be crazy though. That would be wrong even. He’s here to make sure Jet’s okay. Not to be with him like that. 

“Do you always look so concerned?” Jet laughs, and scoots over. He pulls Zuko down onto the bed next to him, and he runs his fingers along Zuko’s furrowed brow, smoothing out the worry lines. 

“I take things seriously, what’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing! Geez, there’s nothing wrong with that. What’s your problem? Why are you so defensive all the time?” 

“What are we?!” Zuko demands. 

Jet considers, stroking his chin. “I’d say we’re friends.” 

“We don’t even talk.” 

“Okay, come here, let’s  _ talk _ .” 

“I’m already here.” 

“Get under the covers with me, unless you’re scared something might happen.” 

“I’m not!” Zuko sighs. “Nothing is going to happen. Why can’t we go downstairs and talk?”

“I got hit by a car, come on. I’m in pain.” 

“Fine.” 

Despite his misgivings, considering what typically happens when they get close to each other, Zuko lies down next to him anyway. Over the covers though, he does have some limits. 

It’s strange, looking into the warm hazel of Jet’s eyes. Inches across from him. Face to face. He feels exposed. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. Jet, and the heat between them, the swathes of red, feel inevitable. He wishes he knew.  _ Do you even like me? If you do, how much?  _

“The kids asked me to tell you that they miss you.” 

“I miss them too.” 

“It was pretty brave, what you did.” 

“I had to,” Jet shrugs. “I would do it again. Any decent teacher would.” 

“Still,” Zuko says quietly, “if there’s anything I can do, just tell me. I feel like it was all my fault.” 

“It wasn’t,” Jet says, reaching out with his left hand to tug a strand of Zuko’s hair behind his ear. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

In that moment he wants nothing more than for Jet to hold him. But he can’t bring himself to close the distance between them. It probably wouldn't be the best idea anyway. After all, one of Jet's arms is in a sling. 

He does indulge in one thing though. He cups Jet's face in his right hand. His skin is as soft as it looks. Warm from the light. Zuko runs his thumb along Jet's cheek. 

"Did you...always want to be a teacher?" Zuko asks. 

"Yeah. No. Of course not." 

"What did you wanna be?" 

"Let's see. A pilot. After that a nascar driver. Then a spaceman." 

"Why does that make so much sense?" Zuko sighs. 

"God. Please don't analyze me. You know kids just say they wanna be the things that look cool." 

"I wanted to be a librarian." 

"I just knew you were a nerd." 

"Hey! It's a great job. You get to be around books all day. And help kids learn how to read. There are cats!"

"I guess you didn't actually end up too far off the mark. You do teach kids how to read. And give it another few years you could be a lonely old guy with a bunch of cats." 

_ Ouch. Okay. It's like that now.  _

"What happened to your dream then, huh? Head too big for an astronaut's helmet? Cockpit not big enough for you and your ego?" Zuko asks, his soft tone not matching the combative nature of his words. 

“Nah. It would have cost too much money and made me follow too many rules.” 

Zuko feels bad now; really, really bad. “Oh, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Jet whispers, and in Zuko’s eyes he looks honey-wonderful and beautiful and Zuko  _ wants _ . He wants Jet so bad. 

Zuko’s right hand wanders down Jet’s side, an inch away from actually touching him. It’s Jet that grabs his hand and presses it down against his own waist.  _ Warm.  _

It’s not something he’s ever really done. Looking into someone’s eyes like this. Zuko looks down to where his hand is basically holding onto Jet and then back into Jet’s eyes. He regrets the inches between them and wonders what it would be like to be pressed flush against each other. What it would be like to bury his face in Jet’s neck. But the thought worries him too. He wants to be in Jet’s arms but he isn’t totally, completely sure if he’s wanted there. 

“What. Are. We.” Zuko repeats, the hard edge in his voice unmistakeable despite its waver. 

“I...seriously?” Jet laughs, not unkindly, even as he’s rubbing circles onto Zuko’s hand. 

_ Must be nice. Being able to ask for what you want. _ It's infuriating. That he wants but he can’t ask. It's already obvious that in his dreams he replays Jet’s kisses again and again and again. Too obvious that Jet is all he can think about these days. That hair. Those eyes. That smirk. Zuko doesn't want to be the butt of a joke and deep down he's never been able to trust quite the same way most people do. Not since  _ then.  _ He was never the same. 

There are still things he doesn’t want Jet to know. Secrets and soft, intimate things that would scare him if laid open. This is why he’s never particularly liked this part. The rush, the instability of liking someone and not knowing if you’re liking them too much. He likes to be sure of things. Stable. In control. There isn’t any control with Jet, only chaos and fever. Redness and fire. A heat that he feels inside growing stronger by the minute. Longing to belong somewhere and be held so tight that the worries of the world and existing in it just disappear. He's starting to think that maybe Jet and him could be together like that. He’s done denying it, even to himself. 

Given Jet’s laughter, the lightness in his eyes, Zuko doesn’t believe that Jet feels the same way about him. He can’t take that last step towards him. Even if he knows what he wants. It’s disappointing. To get so close. Zuko pulls away, a bit reluctantly. He feels the ghost of Jet’s grip on his wrist. A sinking feeling and heavy weight in his stomach. He feels a bit nauseous. 

“Yeah,” Zuko nods, “Of course. I should. Um.” 

Jet watches him go, raising an eyebrow, but saying nothing.  _ What kind of game are we playing?  _ Zuko doesn’t get it. He’s not good at reading the room. Is this how people flirt? Is this just how it goes? Why can Jet look at him and see through the scar, the anger, the yelling, the stubbornness and all of it...and Zuko can’t look at Jet and figure out  _ anything _ ? 

“Again. What’s your problem?” Jet asks, more curious than confrontational. 

“What’s  _ your  _ problem!?” 

“How much time do you have? I’m a complicated person.” 

“I’m being serious!” 

“Fine. Okay. Jeez. I can be serious.” 

“Just forget it, I’ll be downstairs, yell if you need me.” 

* * *

About an hour passes before Zuko hears anything. It’s the sound of a groan. Or a mix between a groan and a yelp. He knows he should go.  _ But why does everything have to be so awkward?  _

He rushes up the stairs and into the bedroom. Jet’s somewhat relocated. He’s sitting on the floor near the closet. And he’s not wearing a shirt. Well, he sort of is. He appears to be in the process of putting one on. It’s a red shirt, Zuko notices. Striped flannel. He looks all strained and kind of tired and way more resigned than Zuko’s ever seen him. 

His eyes are drawn to Jet’s bare chest. There’s a scar on his lower left stomach. Appendectomy. Tan lines near his neck. More muscle definition than someone who teaches art for a living should have.  _ Oh no.  _

“Are you gonna stare or are you gonna help?” Jet sighs. 

Zuko looks at the shirt and figures out the problem. The buttons. Jet can’t get the buttons with only one good hand. 

He kneels down next to him, on his knees, and starts from the bottom. Jet’s just looking at him, amused. Zuko’s barely breathing. Every time his fingers brush against bare skin his heart just about stops.  _ Fuck.  _

Zuko’s hands stop at the collar, most people don’t button all the way up to the top, so he hesitates. 

“Thank you,” Jet says, his left hand landing on top of Zuko’s. 

“Yeah,” Zuko nods. 

“You look so red,” Jet notes. “Is it me?” 

“...Yes.”

Jet starts laughing. Zuko has no idea why. But it’s embarrassing. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“You are,” Jet laughs. 

“Oh.” Zuko looks away, his heart is thudding his chest and everything sort of hurts. 

“No, hey,” Jet reaches out and turns Zuko’s face back towards him, “come on, gorgeous. Didn’t mean it like that. Stay with me.” 

_ Gorgeous.  _ The word makes Zuko’s eyes sting. “I don’t know what you want.” 

“What do  _ you  _ want then. Just tell me. I’m here. Tell me.” 

_ Can’t take it anymore.  _ Zuko kisses him. Everything is happening all at once and Jet feels good.  _ So good. _ Jet has soft lips and the kiss is warm and wet and Zuko needs it like air. He likes the way his nose is pressed into Jet's cheek and the way he can feel his warm breath. Jet kisses him back with a hunger Zuko's never known.  _ This is what I want.  _

Jet sucks on Zuko's lower lip and whispers  _ baby  _ right into his mouth. Jet wraps his left hand into Zuko's hair and pulls on it ever so slightly.  _ Oh.  _ Jet pulls him into the kiss and into his lap and Zuko feels like a teenager again. Making out on the floor. Messy and frenetic and a little bit wild. This is the first time. The beginning of everything. Jet is warm and here and kissing him and holding him and making him feel wanted. All Zuko’s ever wanted in his entire life is to be wanted like this. 

_ This is what I want. This. You. And this.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma respond to the comments on the last chapter soooon but i just had to drop this in,,,its been a week  
> the communication between these two idiots...yeah its like that


	9. jet II

Holding Zuko is like trying to embrace a beehive. Jet can _feel_ the stress and the tension in his body. And as usual, even with kissing, Zuko has it all wrong. He’s pressing his mouth against Jet’s as if they don’t have enough time, he’s incessant and restless. And at another time, with another person, Jet might have allowed that. He might have even liked it. But it’s different this time. They have time, they’ll have plenty of time. _What an idiot._

Jet pulls Zuko’s face away from his own for a second, he strokes his hand along Zuko’s left cheek, “Fuck. Come on, I’m not going anywhere. I _can’t_ go anywhere.” 

Before Zuko can answer or even respond Jet kisses him again. Slowly now. More tenderly than he’s ever kissed anyone else. If he’s honest, the feel of Zuko’s scar against his skin is not pleasant. Rough, uneven and strange whenever it brushes against Jet’s face. But it’s easy not to notice after a while. Because he’s wanted this for _so_ long. At first it was a curiosity. Then a challenge. Now it’s something else. 

“Jet,” Zuko interrupts sternly, “We have to talk about this.” 

_Bullshit._ Since when does talking improve anything? Especially with them. 

“No, just, we don’t. We really don’t.” 

Zuko’s glare softens with more kisses. It disappears completely when Jet whispers in his ear that ‘sometimes it’s better to shut up and our actions do the talking’. It’s a bad line. Even Jet knows that, but Zuko eats it up and actually relaxes. 

_Interesting._

They kiss until it starts to get painful to support Zuko’s weight on him. Jet registers hurt in Zuko’s eyes as he pushes him off, as a matter of necessity, to save his screaming joints. Zuko looks a bit out of place, as if he was just woken up. Defensive even. 

Jet immediately misses the warmth and the feel of him in his arms. _God that sweater was so soft._

Zuko’s just staring at him now, having sat against the bed just a foot away, cross-legged. The moment is heavy between them. 

“I’m tired, okay, whatever you’re thinking, can it wait until after?” Jet asks. 

“After?” Zuko looks confused. 

_This guy. Jeez._

Jet rests his head in Zuko’s lap. He lets out a louder exhale than is necessary and doesn’t bother to ask if this is okay. The hand that lands in his hair seems to confirm that it is. So does the way that Zuko strokes his hair. It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever done with anyone he’s been interested in. It’s lazy and vulnerable and everything Jet ordinarily hates to be. 

“I--I don’t get you,” Zuko says. 

“I’m complicated.” 

“You could have at least let me get my phone before you fell asleep. What am I supposed to do? Just look at you.” 

“Ha. Know you like to look at me,” Jet mumbles, shifting a bit. 

He dreams of jet-black hair and brown-golden eyes. It’s the sweet sleep of victory. 

* * *

When he wakes up Zuko is asleep too, back against the bed. Zuko’s hands are right by Jet’s ears, almost cradling his head. Jet thinks nothing of leaning up, turning and kissing him awake. When Zuko’s eyes open they’re wide and confused again. 

Jet’s never been with someone who didn’t know what to do with affection. He’s always been an affectionate person. He’s wanted to kiss and touch Zuko like this for ages now. He’s sure that Zuko’s wanted the same, and he has no idea why he’s being so hesitant about it. Well, he does have some idea why. He just doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

The afternoon sun is peeking through the blinds now. Scattered bands of light fall over Zuko’s face. _Beautiful._

Jet pushes his own hair back, exposing a scar right near his hairline, “Know where I got that?” 

“How would I know?!” Zuko snaps, finding his voice again, “You--”

“Ssshhhh,” Jet silences him with a kiss, and then grasps Zuko’s hands in his, “It’s a secret, alright?” 

“A secret?” 

“Okay, listen. I told Longshot and Smellerbee I got it in a fight. But the truth is I fell off a swing and hit my head on the pavement.” 

The corners of Zuko’s mouth turn up the smallest bit, but he’s still grimacing, “That’s pretty dumb.” 

Jet rolls up his left sleeve, and shows off a smaller scar, “This one was a knife wound.” 

Zuko looks concerned. 

“Don’t worry, you should have seen the other guy.” 

“What did you bite him? You didn’t--” 

“I’m not a biter. Smellerbee on the other hand. Don’t tell her I said that.” 

"Okay?"

"Okay," Jet repeats, bringing Zuko's hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. 

* * *

It's hell, trying to wash his hair with one good hand. Zuko had led him in there twenty minutes ago, laid out everything within reach. Shampoo, soap, those types of things. He had even unbuttoned his shirt for him. Though refused to look when Jet shrugged it off his shoulders. _Pfffft. A man of honor. Truly._

But now Jet is trying, really trying to do something to his own damn hair. And _fuck._ Soap in the eye. Soap...in the eye. _Fuck._

He can hear the door open a crack, "Are you...okay?" 

"No," Jet sighs, "I was hit by a car. There's soap in my eye. Half the time I'm high on painkillers or falling asleep. I can't wash my own fucking hair. No. I'm not okay." 

Zuko comes over slowly, grabbing a washcloth on his way. He kneels down near Jet. Still not quite looking at him, in all his shirtless glory. He dabs the washcloth at his eyes. 

Jet blinks them open, "I'm not naked, don't be such a pansy. Look at me."

This is unfair. Jet knows that Zuko has a hard time looking at him straight in the eye (for any purpose other than yelling) on a regular day. Let alone when he's dripping wet, not wearing a shirt and this close to him. 

Zuko does look at him. Slowly. His eyes stay fixed to Jet's face. Jet's gotta hand it to him. The man's got focus. 

"Your hair," Zuko mumbles, "S'lot darker when it's wet." 

"In case you couldn't tell. I'm having problems with it." 

"Oh."

"Yeah," Jet says, hoping Zuko will get the hint, he lifts his left hand and waves it, "In some ways. I could literally use a hand." 

Zuko takes a while to catch on. He looks from Jet's eyes to his mouth. As if he wants to kiss him. But doesn't know if he can. Just like that. When Jet's like this. He considers for a second and then seems to get it. His face turning pink at even the thought of it. 

"Right. I could help, uh. If you wanted me too." 

"Uh-huh. Kiss me first. Then maybe I'll let you."

Zuko takes the invitation at once. Kisses him and runs a tentative hand through Jet's wet hair. It's even nicer than before and Jet places his cold clammy hands on Zuko's neck. He turns his head to deepen the kiss and the water splashes a little on Zuko's sleeve. 

"How long has it been?" Zuko asks, pulling away, a little breathless. 

"Since what?"

"The last time you washed your hair." 

"A week. Maybe more."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Zuko says. He sits up on the step next to the bathtub and he squeezes out shampoo into the palm of his hand. Methodical. As if thinking of it that way will make this any less intimate. 

Jet pauses a minute and actually considers what the hell he has just agreed to. But in that minute cautious hands are already touching his scalp. A low raspy voice is already saying "close your eyes" then adding an apologetic "please". 

It feels _weirdly nice._ To let Zuko work shampoo through his hair. Zuko's fingers feel nice moving in swirl patterns all about his head. 

Zuko doesn't talk. The only sound is the occasional movement of water. The drip drip of the sink that Jet's been meaning to fix. Zuko's slow breaths. 

Surely, he's had other people wash his hair. Jet racks his mind but can think of none. Mrs. Freeman had never really been much for bathing the kids. Jet remembers washing Smellerbee's hair on more than one occasion. In the sink. Sometimes to get ill-advised hair dye out. He'd washed the Duke's hair in the backyard that time he had lice. But he doesn't remember anyone ever washing his hair. Not like this. Other than mom of course. But he doesn't like to think about that. 

It's not exactly the safest to think about Zuko right now either. Zuko with his half burned face, sometimes abrasive manner, and probably the gentlest hands. People always assume Jet likes things hard and a little out there. They're usually right. He wants to change the world and live in it on his own terms. Yell and scream and rage. Usually. 

Not today. Today he wants to feel the small circles Zuko's rubbing into the hair near the nape of his neck. The softness with which Zuko lowers him under a stream of water and rinses. Making sure to wipe the suds out of his eyebrows too. Pausing to ask, in his teacher voice of course, if he's doing okay. 

"Don't use the voice on me," Jet chides, and gulps, suddenly nervous. 

"Right. Sorry. Habit." 

If Jet's eyes are wet right now it's purely due to a combination of water and the sting of soap. He fights back a memory and then another of a time when someone had taken care of him like this. Touched him with care not to hurt him, and something approaching love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will reply to more comments soon! thank you for reading the fic this chap was pure soft times TM and no plot so sksjskskskwkwkwhejwk yeah
> 
> its like that...also...a sokka cameo may be on the horizon...mayhaps...


	10. zuko V

Zuko’s hands are shaking as he steps into the car. He doesn’t notice the thin coating of snow on the driveway. Or the fact that he can see his breath in the air. He drives around in circles even though he knows he has to go home at some point. The only thing on his mind is Jet. His warm, wet skin. The feeling of his hair in Zuko’s hands. _Feelings._ He has feelings and they are too strong and too heavy. He wasn’t thinking at the time about anything except kissing and touching and holding. He’s thinking now. And he’s scared. 

The snowfall starts in earnest about a half hour after Zuko leaves Jet’s. Visibility is poor. He isn’t even quite sure where he is. He can’t think straight and he needs to talk to someone. He pulls over into a gas station and goes through his contact list. His hands and his fingers feel way too big for his phone. 

It would be easy, perhaps, to blame this on Jet. Too easy. It’s not Jet that Zuko’s afraid of. Not exactly. It’s himself. The fact that he cares _so_ much. He knows how risky it is, caring about something. Especially for him. He has a tendency to get very deep very fast. They’re not even officially ‘together’ or anything. Whatever that means at his age. 

Everything was fine while Jet was still there with him. He had fallen asleep again right as it came time for Zuko to leave. He looked sleepy, dazed even, reaching for Zuko’s face needily and kissing him on the mouth one, two, three times. Just because he could. 

Zuko looks at the names in his phone. There’s plenty of people he could call. There’s plenty of people he should call. But he wants nothing more right now than to roll down the window of his car, and throw the phone out into the icy winds. 

_What would uncle do?_ He muses, for the first time in a long time. Zuko strokes his chin, and does his best ‘Iroh’ voice, “You must look within your heart, to save your heart, from your other heart, only then will your true feelings reveal themselves.” 

“Even when I’m talking for him I can’t understand what he means!” 

His thoughts drift to his sister. _What would Azula do?_

“Listen Jet,” he narrates to himself, in Azula’s smug and lofty tone, “I can’t be with you unless you and I both know what we want out of this, because I don’t like to waste my time.” 

That didn’t help either. He sighs. “Guess I’m not that good at impersonations.” 

While he’s in the car, the precipitation picks up. A lot. More than a lot. Zuko blinks and there’s several inches of snow on the ground. _Why does this have to happen to me?_ Zuko recognizes pretty quickly that he shouldn’t drive all the way home with the roads being what they are. He probably shouldn’t drive anywhere at all. As it is, he’s halfway to his place, halfway from Jet’s. There’s only one person he knows who lives fairly close by to the place he’s currently parked. _You’ve got to be kidding me._

* * *

When Aang gets the door it’s ten pm, a snowed upon, very defeated looking Zuko stands outside. His nose is red and his eyes look red too. 

Zuko waves a hand at him, then coughs into his sleeve, “Hello, Zuko here.” 

Then he collapses. 

* * *

When Zuko wakes up, he's lying horizontally on Aang’s sofa, with his feet raised. He’s wearing a sweatshirt over his regular clothes that he does not recognize. It’s a little big for him, and blue. Soft and warm in a way that feels like a hug. 

“Katara he’s awake!” 

Zuko hears voices in the distance. He’s still in a haze as he feels someone sit him up and wrap his hands around a warm mug. 

“So, we are happy to see you, it’s just, I’m a little confused as to how you got here in the middle of a blizzard?” Aang asks. 

“Mmmghrh,” Zuko mumbles as he sips from the mug. It’s hot and chocolatey. Whatever is in there. Probably hot chocolate. 

“Are you okay?” Katara asks from his other side. “You don’t really look okay.” 

“I’m fine,” Zuko asserts. He is not in fact fine. He has been better on many occasions. 

“It’s not his fault, cold front was supposed to miss us by a few hundred miles.” Aang points out. 

“Were you with Jet? I know you sometimes go over there, so that Smellerbee can teach,” Aang continues, “You should have stayed over there. Just in case. It’s not safe.” 

Zuko hears a cry emanate from the baby monitor and Aang and Katara exchange looks. She flashes a ‘good luck with that’ smile at Zuko before she hurries upstairs. 

“Look, things are weird enough with him without...I just had to get out of there. I didn’t know it was gonna snow this hard in the middle of April, okay?!” 

“What’s going on with him?” Aang asks. 

“Whose sweater is this?” Zuko tries to change the subject. 

“Katara’s brother left it here the last time he visited, a few days ago actually.” 

“S’nice.” 

“Zuko, we’re friends. If there’s something bothering you, you could tell me about it? Gyatso always taught me it’s better to be honest. At least with yourself.” 

Aang’s eyes are kind, and trusting. Zuko has walked a mile in the snow today. He is tired and he is spent. He is also wearing a sweater that’s just a bit big and belongs to another man. A very feral part of him just wants to come out with it.

“We got together. Me and--” 

“He asked you out?” Aang asks cautiously. 

“No.” 

“Did-” 

“I don’t know. I don’t _know_ anything! Everytime we try to talk things just get worse. So we don’t talk. That’s better. Mostly.” 

“How’s he doing, with his health and stuff by the way?”

“Okay, not great.” 

“Zuko, have you thought about what you want out of this?”

“Now you sound like my Uncle.” 

“When I first started dating Katara,” Aang explains, “Well. Pretty quickly I sort of realized that she could be well, it, for me. I told her I was looking for something real, I just had to know that we were on the same page. She wasn’t right away. It took her some time. We took a break. When we got back together she told me she was ready. It was better that way, for both of us.” 

“I-I don’t mean to be mean, Aang,” Zuko says quickly, “I don’t have that luxury.” 

“Why not?” Aang asks, looking genuinely confused. 

“It’s not the same as you and Katara. Or you and anyone. You’re just _you._ ” 

“Zuko you don’t have to--” 

“Can we please stop with the questions until I can feel my extremities again? Sorry.” 

“Sure, I have loads of other things we could talk about,” Aang smiles, “I wrote a new song for the kids.” 

“Okay,” Zuko nods, “Okay let’s hear it.” 

* * *

It’s not fair, Zuko considers later. That Aang is about a thousand times easier to talk to than Jet. He mentions this to Katara. In a manner of speaking. 

“You’re lucky,” he tells her as she walks him to the guest bedroom. “With him.” 

“Zuko do you have a crush on my husband?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye. 

“What?! No, I just meant--” 

“I know what you meant,” Katara laughs. “But then again, you did walk a mile in a blizzard to come and see him.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Sorry, just seeing you wear that sweater makes me want to make fun of you. It’s the sibling instinct.” 

“His name is Sokka, right?” Zuko asks, just to be polite. The name feels familiar as it flows off his tongue. _Sokka._

“Yeah, you would have met him at New Years, but--” 

“Snowstorm, his flight got delayed,” Zuko remembers. 

“Right.” 

As he lies in the guest bedroom Zuko’s hand creeps into the pocket of the sweatshirt. His fingers wrap around a crumpled piece of paper. He pulls it out and reads it. Making out only two items on what looks like a grocery list. _Yogurt chobani (strawb?). Milk two percent (choc?)._ It’s very specific. What this ‘Sokka’ person prefers. He doesn’t really know what kind of yogurt Jet likes. For some ungodly reason that bothers him. Maybe that’s it then. Maybe they just don’t know each other that well. 

That’s dating though right? Getting to know someone. He and Jet should actually date, then everything will be fine. The pit in his stomach will go away. His hands will stop shaking every so often. The voice in his head that questions why anyone would ever like _him_ Like That will finally shut the fuck up. It’s gotta be the key.

* * *

Wanting to ask Jet something and actually doing it turn out to be very different things. Zuko has a lot of questions on the tip of his tongue the next time he shows up at Jet’s. He’d really like to know, as Jet kisses him before he’s even stepped through the door, whether they’re dating. They probably are, he’s not _that_ stupid. But is Jet his boyfriend? There’s a line, somewhere. He’d like to draw it. 

But he can’t. It feels too nice, just to sit on the sofa next to him. Jet pulls him close with his good arm, and he lets Zuko just sort of lay on his chest while they watch TV. Jet’s warm and he smells nice and Zuko is being _held_. He does not want that to stop. He doesn’t want to ruin the niceness of it all with questions. 

Another set of questions. _Why do you even like me? Do you want to be with me and in what way and why?_ Zuko’s mind pursues such interrogatives with aggression. He pursues nearly everything with aggression. That’s something he learned about himself in therapy. It’s his tendency never to half-ass something. Even the ramblings of his own mind. Whole-ass or nothing. Fucking shame. 

But Zuko’s mouth can barely form the question before he thinks it’ll be better to just press his mouth against Jet’s and run his fingers through Jet’s soft hair. Better to try and feel out the answer from the way Jet kisses him back. Surely, if he’s so present, so passionate, practically laughing into every kiss. That must mean something. 

“You know it was stupid, what you did, getting caught in the snowstorm,” Jet mentions. His lips are kiss-swollen and his hair, well it’s even wilder than usual. 

“I didn’t know it was going to snow.” 

“You should have stayed, it was late.” 

“With you?” 

“No, with the guy that delivers our mail, yes, with me, you idiot.” 

“Oh.” 

Staying over is the sort of thing a boyfriend does. Yeah, it definitely is. But maybe Jet’s just saying that because of the weather. He had stayed over at Aang and Katara’s. That wasn’t like that. And, this thing, with him and Jet, it’s so new. It wouldn’t make sense for him to just stay. 

“Would that--I don’t even have pajamas here.” 

“Wear mine,” Jet says, tucking a stray bit of Zuko’s hair behind his ear. 

“What?” 

“I said...you could wear mine.” 

“I guess so.”

“Your eyes are kinda gold in the light,” Jet mentions. His hand is on Zuko’s face, his thumb stroking back and forth across Zuko’s unscarred cheek. At the moment, Zuko would do just about anything to keep it there. To keep Jet’s gaze locked with his. 

“Yeah.” 

“You have the kind of face that’s meant to be painted, you know that?” 

_What does that mean?_

“Are you going to?!” 

“Maybe, after you get to know me better,” Jet smiles. 

There. The perfect opening. 

“I want you to go out with me,” Zuko pushes the words out in a desperate tumble. 

“Unbelievable,” Jet says, “I knew something was eating you. Okay. You wanna do this that way. We can. But you’re paying. I’m on a teacher’s salary.” 

“I’m _also_ a teacher.” 

Jet shrugs. 

“Fine,” Zuko sighs. He glances at Jet’s hand on the spare bit of sofa between them. Then at Jet’s face. 

There’s no way, he thinks, that he could communicate with any kind of accuracy, how acutely touch starved he is. And has been since birth. Uncle seems to understand this without being told directly. He gets hugged all the time when Uncle’s around. If Zuko had come to him a little younger, and a little more innocent, he’s sure he would have spent his days holding Uncle’s hand and following him around like a shadow. Zuko likes touching people, not in a weird way. Just as an anchorpoint. Affection without words. Because words are hard, and sometimes come out with a coating of anger and spite that he can’t get rid of. It’s hard to hug someone, especially someone like Uncle, and mean it angrily. Physical affection is like the one thing Zuko thinks he couldn’t possibly mess up. 

It’s not the kind of thing Zuko could possibly articulate. Mostly because everytime he thinks about it, it sounds very stupid. And it makes him feel small and weird. Which makes him want to throw things and slam doors. _I want you to hold me so tightly that I couldn’t possibly fucking doubt that you want me with you._ Yeah. It sounds stupid. 

So all he can do is sort of move his hand so it’s sort of kind of brushing Jet’s. Hand holding is mushy and soft in a way that kissing even isn’t. He waits to see if he’s overstepped. 

Halfway through the show though he feels Jet’s open palm against his. Warm fingers interlaced against his. And for a moment, just one moment, everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the extremely small sokka cameo skdfjldksfjldk


End file.
